


Resuscitation I thru III

by thebasement_archivist



Category: The X-Files
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 1999-09-30
Updated: 1999-09-30
Packaged: 2018-11-20 11:25:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 45,494
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11334744
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thebasement_archivist/pseuds/thebasement_archivist
Summary: Fox Mulder and Walter Skinner work on building the relationship they started following an eye-opening accident.





	Resuscitation I thru III

**Author's Note:**

> Note from alice ttlg, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Basement](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Basement), which moved to the AO3 to ensure the stories are always available and so that authors may have complete control of their own works. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in June 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [The Basement's collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/thebasement/profile).

 

Resuscitation by m. butterfly

27 October 1998

Resuscitation  
by m. butterfly  
Author's note: This is a PWP romance featuring consensual sex between two men. If you're homophobic, prissy or under 18, go away now. The story occurs shortly before the start of Season Six. Many thanks to Susan for beta-reading, advice and encouragement. Serious feedback always appreciated at . Oh, yeah lines introduced and ended with a double slash //are internal and not spoken out loud by the characters; asterisks* enclosing words or phrases indicate emphasis.  
Spoilers: Small Potatoes, X-Files: Fight the Future, Emily, Avatar, Redux.  
Disclaimer: The characters Fox Mulder, Walter Skinner, Dana Scully, Cigarette Smoking Man (aka "Cancerman") et al belong to Chris Carter, Ten Thirteen Productions and Fox Broadcasting (lucky bastards!). This is a work of fiction intended only for private enjoyment.

* * *

FBI Headquarters  
Washington, DC  
Friday, 11:05 pm

"Shit!"

//What the hell is wrong with me?//

FBI Special Agent Fox Mulder flung the pencil he'd been tapping on his desk for the last how long had it been this time? five? ten minutes? across the room. Whenever his partner was there, she'd put up with the annoying tap, tap, tap for no more than 60 seconds.

But Dana Scully was long gone. Unlike him, *she* didn't hang around the office on a Friday night when she didn't have to, when there was no work to be done.

For all Mulder knew, he'd been doing his one-armed drummer routine for hours now.

He checked his desk drawer for sunflower seeds, but he'd exhausted his supply that afternoon. Nothing was going right this week! He got up to retrieve the pencil. Although the new office was rather small, tonight it felt cavernous. He wished Scully were there to tell him to sit down, sit *still*, and stop making her crazy. But she wasn't there. She'd left around 5:00 pm to get ready for a date.

He stopped pacing momentarily to look at his watch. Just after 11:00 pm. Would she be home by now? Having drinks somewhere? Dancing? Horizontally, perhaps?

//God, Mulder, you're a pig!//

This was the second time Scully had seen what was his name? Dick? Willy? whatever this week.

And Mulder was jealous as hell.

Of course, he was happy for her. She was more than his partner; she was his best friend. His *only* friend, really. After what she'd been through since she started working with him being abducted, not once but twice; her battle with cancer; losing the only child she'd ever conceive she certainly deserved to have some fun.

//I'll kill him if he hurts her!//

If Scully and what's-his-name were to get serious, Mulder was going to be damned lonely. Oh, he knew she'd never cut him out of her personal life just because she had a boyfriend. That wasn't Scully's style; she'd still make time for him. But things would be different. Hell, they already were.

Mulder had known Scully for six years. From the beginning, he'd found her incredibly lovely who wouldn't? and she had many wonderful qualities that made her even more attractive: intelligence, loyalty, compassion, perseverance...

So why had he never hit on her?

When his mother had asked him that very thing albeit more gracefully a few months ago, he truthfully told her it was because they had to work together every day, and that seeing someone from work especially your partner was always a bad idea.

"Besides, Mom," he'd said, "Scully's practically perfect. I'm not her type."

"Oh, Fox!" she'd scolded. "Don't be so hard on yourself! You're a good-looking young man. I can tell that Dana's very fond of you. I'm sure she'd say 'yes' if you asked her out."

Although Mulder had expressed his doubts, he knew better.

When that little schmuck Eddie Van Blundht had morphed into Mulder's doppelganger and dropped in on Scully at home, the gorgeous redhead would have let him kiss her and probably have kissed him back

if her *real* partner hadn't shown up.

So, the possibility that Scully might feel something more than friendship toward him actually existed. But, as much as Mulder was flattered, he just wasn't interested. Oh, he'd almost locked lips with her once, when they were both extremely vulnerable. But if that bee hadn't stung her, would they have ended up in bed together? He honestly doubted it. Mulder loved Scully too much as a friend. She was like a sister

//Samantha//to him. Only really sick bastards wanted to have sex with their sister.

//I'm sick, but not *that* sick.//

In fact, until quite recently,

//the pool//Mulder hadn't thought about having sex with anyone but himself, that is for a long time. And the person who was now constantly, irrationally, on his mind was *nobody's* goddamn sister.

He leaned against his desk, and began rubbing his forehead with the heels of his hands.

"Ow! Shit!" He'd forgotten about the cut above his right eye. He wished it could be that easy to forget about what had happened what he'd done Monday night, and how he'd been feeling since then. His head wasn't the only thing that was starting to throb at the moment.

//Son of a bitch! No!//

Mulder clamped his eyes shut, trying to squeeze the

//exciting//terrifying images from his mind. He made a valiant attempt to think sexy thoughts about women, about being with them, but his daydream lover kept turning into someone he had no business fantasizing about.

//Maybe this is what happens when you've been celibate for too long.//

Mulder, who was just days away from his 37th birthday, had been involved in very few long-term relationships. The first one, with Phoebe Green, when they were both students at Oxford, was almost based solely on sex. At the time, he'd been young and naive enough to believe it was true love. He soon came to realize that the only thing Phoebe really loved about him was how easy it was to fuck with his mind. It wasn't just their inevitable breakup that nearly shattered him it was having to admit what a stupid, horny sucker he'd been.

//Some psyche major!//

It hadn't been that way with Diana Fowley, a fellow agent. Like Phoebe, she too was beautiful and brainy. But where Phoebe was sadistic, Diana was decent. She had truly loved Fox body and soul and he'd thought he felt the same for her. But the physical chemistry didn't last not for him, anyway. He found he'd rather talk to her about the cases they were working on than indulge in the *other* form of intercourse. No one stimulated his brain the way Diana did. He felt comfortable around her. Safe. But not sexually excited. The more frustrated she became, the guiltier he felt. In the end, their parting was painful but amicable. They'd handled one assignment together since then, and he'd felt awkward and inadequate around her, even though she'd been kind to him. Maybe *because* she'd been so kind.

After he and Diana split up, Mulder had thrown himself into his work the X-Files which left little time for close encounters of the sexual kind. And the ones he *did* have made him feel dead inside, especially that last one nearly five years ago.

So Mulder kept insisting he didn't need anyone; love was a myth, and if you wanted to get your rocks off, you could do that on your own, thank you very much.

But now that Scully was seeing someone, he found it harder than ever to convince himself that he preferred being alone. He imagined how wonderful it would be to share his life with someone who really cared about him, who believed in him. Someone affectionate, intelligent, principled, interesting, passionate, trustworthy. Sexy. Strong. Muscular.

"Stop it! Just shut the fuck up!" His voice boomed throughout the basement office, hurting his already-aching head.

//Eddie Van Blundht was right! I'm a fucking loser!//

  
FBI Headquarters Friday, 11:05 pm

It had been a long, tiring week. And strange. *Very* strange. So what was FBI Assistant Director Walter Skinner still going at the office this late on a Friday night? He shut the report he wasn't really reading and rubbed the bridge of his nose.

The truth was, Skinner wasn't looking forward to going home and spending another weekend by himself. He lived alone in a sterile apartment in a sterile building in a sterile neighbourhood. He didn't know any of his fellow tenants, had no real friends to speak of in the area, and wasn't all that close to what little family he had left. And, for the longest time now, there'd been no one special

//agent //in his life.

Fiddling with his Cross pen, Skinner sat back in his leather chair and started to swivel slowly. He stopped when he saw his reflection in the window, put his new glasses back on, and stared at himself. He'd soon be 50, and what did he have to show for his life? Oh, sure, he was an AD with the Bureau. He earned a healthy salary, had money in the bank, drove a nice car. Big deal. He was also divorced, childless, and terribly lonely. And he was deathly afraid he'd never find the love he so desperately desired.

A few years ago, as his sham of a marriage was crumbling, he'd hit rock bottom by picking up a hooker at a bar. The next morning, he'd found her dead beside him, and became the prime suspect in her murder. Then someone ran his estranged wife off the road and once again all fingers pointed to him. He'd been set up royally, of course, and would have been rotting in prison today if it hadn't been for his subordinates' faith in him. One subordinate in particular.

With a sigh, the former Marine stood up and drew a little closer to the window that served as a mirror when darkness settled over Washington. He knew he wasn't the best-looking man on earth hell, not even in the building 

//Special Agent//but he knew he wasn't exactly hideous, either. When he wasn't scowling, he was a handsome man. And he took good care of his body by eating well, not drinking too much, and exercising.

//Fitness centre.//

But he hated the fact that he'd lost most of his hair so early in life, even though Star Trek's Captain Picard had become a sex symbol to legions of women.

Skinner glowered at his own image.

//I don't care what women think about me. Only what *he* thinks. There! I admit it. Happy now?//

His entire life, Walter Skinner had tried to live by the book. Follow the rules. Do all the "right" things. He knew that the people around him his superiors, his secretary, his underlings, his enemies regarded him as a rigid, conservative hardass. He'd been playing the part for so long, he'd actually started to believe it, too. But after this week, he realized he could no longer fool himself.

Slumping back into his chair in defeat, the VCR in Skinner's head replayed for the millionth time, it seemed the incident that had finally flushed years of repressed emotions into the open.

*******

After finishing work Monday, he'd gone to the building's fitness centre to pump a little iron. Wearing shorts and a muscle shirt, the AD had made his way to the weight room. It had been relatively quiet, as most FBI personnel had gone home for dinner.

The fitness centre was very well-appointed the best taxpayers' money could buy. The cardio equipment, free weights and Cybex machines were located one floor above the gymnasium. The fitness room featured a long glass wall that overlooked the Olympic-sized pool. Near the end of his workout, while going to get some dumbbells, Skinner had idly glanced down at the water as one of his most brilliant but difficult agents entered the empty pool area. The AD knew that Fox Mulder liked to swim lengths, especially when something was bothering him. And Mulder had seemed particularly preoccupied of late.

For some reason had Skinner been staring long? probably Mulder had noticed him too, and met his boss' gaze. Looking very

//sexy//tired, he'd given him that famous charismatic grin, then a small, almost shy wave.

For just the briefest

//swim trunks//moment, Skinner hadn't been able to move. Or think. Or breathe. But he'd regained his composure quickly, and nodded soberly at Mulder before dashing off to do some bicep curls.

A model of concentrated discipline, he'd somehow finished his set and went to return the dumbbells to the rack, wondering why he suddenly felt uncomfortable about looking at the

//swimmer//pool again. As if to prove to himself that Mulder, practically naked as he was, hadn't affected him at all, Skinner had casually peered through the glass.

And was horrified at what he saw.

Mulder was there, all right floating face down, lifeless, the water turning crimson around his dark head.

Dropping the dumbbells and startling the room's few occupants, Skinner had bolted for the stairs, shouting for someone *anyone* to call an ambulance.

After bursting through the door to the pool, Skinner had toed off his shoes and tossed his glasses aside before diving toward where Mulder was drifting. The AD had his agent out of the water and on his back in seconds. He'd started CPR immediately.

"C'mon, Mulder. Breathe, damn you!" Skinner had ordered while pressing down on the motionless chest.

Mulder had finally regained consciousness while his boss was performing mouth-to-mouth resuscitation... and Skinner had been staggered when he felt Mulder's lips move against his own. Their eyes had locked for an instant dreamily confused hazel to shocked dark brown before Skinner pulled back and Mulder rolled over onto his side, retching up water.

//He needed to cough, for Christ's sake! Get a grip, man!//

Shaken, the AD had helped Mulder sit up, asking him if he was okay.

"I'm fine, Sir." Blood had trickled down the right side of his face.

"Sure you are." Skinner's deep voice had been gruff, but he'd surprised Mulder by gently brushing the wet hair off his forehead to get a look at the damage. He'd then stripped off his shirt, squeezed it almost dry, folded it into a small pad, and held it against the wound to stem the bleeding. The other hand had remained on Mulder's back, supporting him.

"What happened, Agent Mulder? Do you remember?" Again, the tone tough, the hands anything but.

Dazed but coherent, Mulder had told the AD he'd been so lost in thought that he swam into the end of the pool, apparently knocking himself out.

After the ambulance had arrived, a worried Skinner had changed quickly and raced to the hospital, calling Scully on the way to tell her what'd happened.

Fortunately, Mulder had only needed a few stitches, and didn't have a concussion. The two men had engaged in uneasy conversation until Scully arrived to escort her accident-prone partner home.

*******

That had been four days ago.

Skinner had ordered Mulder to take some time off to recuperate. To no one's surprise, he'd shown up for work the next morning. But, when his boss had told him to stay out of the field for a few days and catch up on some paperwork, Mulder had been strangely compliant. Scully was dumbfounded, wondering if the head injury was more serious than first thought.

Maybe it was just his overworked, excitement-starved imagination, but Skinner could have sworn that his wayward agent had been *flirting* with him all week. And poorly at that. Fox Mulder was one of the most charming people Walter Skinner had ever known; his dry, sharp wit and dazzling smile were far more dangerous and effective than his gun. But now the Special Agent was a babbling fool around his immediate superior. Every time the two men had made contact which was often, since Mulder had been hanging around upstairs more than usual he would thank Skinner profusely for saving his life. Not such odd behaviour ... except that Mulder's face flushed, he avoided eye contact, and his voice danced all over the register. Furthermore, he always seemed on the verge of saying something profound, but just wound up complimenting Skinner's new eyewear or choice of tie before scurrying back to his gloomy basement lair, mumbling away to himself like a madman.

Was it possible that Mulder was interested in him? The man who chewed him out most of the time? A person he obviously found difficult to trust? Or was this just a case of big-time wishful thinking?

Now Skinner was an emotional wreck. No one knew that, of course not even Mulder and he intended to keep it that way.

Oh, he was probably a little grumpier than normal. But who would ever suspect it was the result of four restless nights that had ended in wet dreams about a man he'd rescued from drowning?

  
FBI Headquarters  
Friday, 11:28 pm

Eyes closed, head tilted back, Mulder could almost smell chlorine and faint traces of expensive aftershave; see broad shoulders and well-defined pecs; hear soothing, concerned words from an iron voice dipped in honey; feel large hands, tender against his skin ... and the not unpleasant scratchiness of another man's five-o'clock shadow grazing his lips.

He shook his head abruptly, bringing on another stab of pain.

//I don't care what Scully and the ER doctor said. I definitely have brain damage.//

Why else would he be thinking about Walter Skinner like this?

But Mulder was a committed seeker of all things truthful, and there was no denying that he'd had non-regulation thoughts about his boss long before Monday's accident. His infatuation probably started the time that Skinner opened up and told him about some paranormal experiences he had in Vietnam and more recently. Before then, Mulder had known next to nothing about the man's personal life, and figured he was just one of Cancerman's stooges. But now the agent regarded him in a completely different light...

In fact, he'd been thinking about Skinner when he rammed into the end of the pool. Thinking how hot he was in shorts and a muscle shirt, and how exhilarating it was to catch the ruggedly good-looking man staring instead of glaring at him for a change. Mulder had nearly blown him a kiss, but caught himself at the last second, and just grinned and waved like a lovesick schoolboy.

//Jesus!//

One minute he'd been cutting through the water, savouring its coolness, glad that no one was aware of the growing bulge in his tiny swim trunks. The next minute, or so it seemed, the object of his musings was leaning over him, covering his mouth with his lips, and Mulder had pressed back.

//I *kissed* him, for God's sake!//

Fortunately, the unwelcomed water in his stomach, combined with the thundering pain in his head, had stopped him from fully embracing the other man ... and experiencing another erection. Sitting there at the side of the pool with a half-naked, soaking-wet Walter Skinner fussing over him had nearly pushed Mulder over the brink.

Shame had coursed through him ... and just a glimmer of hope. Was Skinner just being the concerned, caring boss the one who'd stuck his neck out for both him and Scully so many times before or was there more to it than that? Unable to stop himself, Mulder had been testing the waters all week, hoping that Skinner would what? make a move on him? Ask him out? Profess his undying love?

So far, nothing. As of Tuesday morning, the AD had been his usual stone-faced self.

The agent banged his fist on his desk hard enough to send his stapler flying.

This entire line of thought was idiotic and pointless. Skinner was straight. Mulder was a non-practising heterosexual. Case closed.

It was time to go home to his beloved porn video collection and resume the continuing romance with his ever-reliable right hand.

  
FBI Headquarters  
Parking Garage  
11:36 pm 

Head down, suit jacket flung over one shoulder, Walter Skinner walked purposefully through the all-but-deserted garage, shiny leather shoes slapping loudly on the concrete floor.

As he turned a corner sharply, he was almost flattened by a Ford whose driver's mind was obviously elsewhere. The car stopped violently, less than an inch from the AD's legs.

"Jesus Christ! You nearly killed me, you moron! This is a parking lot, not the Indy five-" Skinner's jaw dropped. He recognized the driver.

"Mulder! I should have known!"

Holding his right hand to his forehead, Mulder stumbled out of the offending vehicle.

"Sir! God, Sir, I'm so sorry! Are you all right?"

"Yeah, I " Skinner frowned. "Why are you holding your head like that?"

"Uh, I bumped it on the steering wheel when I braked."

"Agent Mulder, are you on self-destruct mode this week?"

"No different from any other week, Sir."

"I suppose not." Skinner put down his jacket and briefcase, and walked up to his agent. "Let me see what you've done now."

"Excuse me, Sir?"

"Move your hand, Mulder, so I can see if you've succeeded in cracking your skull wide open this time."

While his boss carefully lifted his hair out of the way to inspect his forehead, Mulder tried not to tremble at his touch. He also made a concerted effort to stare at his own shoes ... but his eyes kept darting to the other man's crotch. He winced.

"Sorry, Mulder. Did I hurt you?"

He swallowed. "No, Sir. I'm fine." He stepped back with a mixture of relief and regret, struggling not to focus on any aspect of Skinner's rather splendid physique.

"Well, the stitches are dissolving and you're healing nicely, but you could use some rest. You shouldn't have worked so late. Are you okay to drive?"

"Yes, Sir. I'll be more careful." He spoke to the floor. "I'm really sorry, Sir. This isn't how I intended to express my gratitude for saving my life."

Skinner's pulse quickened, but his voice remained calm and steady. "Oh? What did you have in mind?" Realizing the remark probably sounded like a come-on, he attended to some imaginary lint on his sleeve. "Uh, I mean, you've already thanked me, Agent Mulder. Several times, in fact. I'm just glad I was there. I wish you'd stop scaring me like that."

"Uh, sorry, Sir. Still " He paused, struggling to hold back what he'd been dying to say all week.

"Yes, Agent Mulder?"

He lost the battle. "I'd, um, like to buy you dinner"

Skinner's eyebrows shot up.

"or a drink sometime. You know. My way of saying thanks."

He cleared his throat. "I'd like that."

The younger man blinked back his surprise. "Great! When?"

Skinner was rattled by Mulder's sudden exuberance. "I - I don't know anytime, I guess."

Mulder plunged on. "How about *now*?"

The AD looked at his watch. "It's getting late, Mulder."

Again, relief mingled with regret. "You're right, Sir. Absolutely right."

"It's too late for dinner, and I don't think you should be drinking tonight."

"Dumb idea, Sir. Sorry."

"However..." Skinner glanced around the garage. "...if you're free tomorrow night, and think you can handle it, I'm not doing anything."

Mulder's head snapped up.

In all the years Skinner had known him, he'd never seen the agent look so surprised. It amused

//aroused//him. "Agent Mulder?"

It took the younger man a few seconds to find his voice. This week was getting more surreal by the minute. "Tomorrow night's fine, Sir. Where would you like to go? What time? Should I pick you up or meet you there? Do you "

Skinner chuckled nervously, continuing to astound Mulder, who didn't think he'd ever seen the man crack a smile, let alone laugh. "Slow down, Mulder. Let me think!"

//Think? How can I think? I've just asked him to take me out! Shit!//

An internal light finally came on, piercing the fog in Skinner's brain. "Do you like Italian?"

"Yes, Sir."

"Good! There's this great little ristorante in my neighbourhood. It's pretty casual, but the food is fantastic."

"Okay. Sure. Anything you want."

"Why don't you come by my place around 7:00? If the weather stays this nice, we can walk over to La Trattoria."

"Seven. Tomorrow. Right, Sir. I'll be there."

"I'm looking forward to it, Agent Mulder. Well, good night. And drive carefully! I don't want to visit you in the hospital again for a long time."

Mulder was steadying himself against his car. "No, Sir. Drive carefully, too. See you tomorrow, Sir. Good night!"

  
Both men found it hard to sleep that night.

  
La Trattoria  
Crystal City, Virginia  
Saturday Night

Skinner was right. La Trattoria was a great little place unpretentious, attentive service, fabulous aromas wafting in from the kitchen. Dim lights. Soft music.

//Romantic.//

At first, Mulder didn't think he'd be able to eat, his stomach was in such knots. Only Scully knew how much AD Skinner's approval meant to her partner. He was one of the few authority figures Mulder respected, and the agent had hoped that his boss saw him as something other than a flake. But the way he'd been acting lately, how could anyone think otherwise?

Tonight Mulder wanted to drink nothing stronger than beer, but when Skinner suggested they share a bottle of red wine, the younger man was so eager to please that he readily agreed.

As they waited for their food, the two were awkward with each other until Mulder brought up the NBA's latest labour dispute and the Major League playoffs. After that, they talked about their mutual passion for running, the books they'd read, the movies they'd seen. No heavy ground was covered, but this casual back-and-forth felt good. Natural. It was like two buddies sharing a ritual Saturday night supper. Almost.

While Skinner, eyes sparkling behind his lenses, was telling Mulder about the time he caught a foul ball at Fenway Park years ago, the younger man drank in how different his boss was now. Cheerful. Animated. Witty. Like another person.

He looked so different, too. He had a great smile that made him even more attractive. And Mulder really liked the way his button-down Henley stretched across that impressive chest. The pushed-up sleeves of his shirt revealed perfect forearms that rested on the table, close enough to reach over and touch...

*******

Skinner had spent the entire day thinking of ways to get out of having dinner with Mulder. It was wrong. It was madness. It was something he shouldn't let happen. But every time he picked up the phone to cancel, he just couldn't do it. He wanted

//*him*//it too much.

When Skinner had let Mulder into his apartment just before 7:00, he'd been as anxious as he'd ever been in his life. His visitor also looked jumpy. And so

//delectable//young nice-fitting black jeans, faded denim shirt, white Nikes.

They'd walked to the restaurant in relative silence, both too jittery to appreciate the balmy October evening. All the way over, the AD had wondered what in hell he was doing, and how he'd ever get through this night with his dignity intact.

But once they'd settled into the cozy little booth and sipped some wine, the tension between them began to dissipate. They both loved sports, and he was relieved that Mulder could talk intelligently about something else besides alien abductions, liver-eating mutants and government conspiracies.

As always, Skinner was fascinated by the irresistible man who shared the narrow table with him. He loved watching him talk. He had the sexiest lips. Full. Pouty. Soft. With a pleasant shudder, Skinner remembered they way they'd felt against his own last Monday.

He wondered if he'd ever feel them again.

*******

Mulder didn't want dinner to end; he was afraid what would or *wouldn't* happen next. He took his time paying the cheque, and drank more coffee than he should have.

//Brilliant! Get wired and say something really stupid.//

Would Skinner figure out that he was stalling? Probably. The man was no fool.

"I think we've shut the place down, Mulder."

The agent looked around. They were the only customers left. "You're right. I guess we should get out of here and let the staff go home."

Skinner folded his napkin and placed it on the table. "If you're not too tired and if you're feeling okay

we could go back to my place ... for a brandy. I wouldn't mind talking some more." He met startled eyes, his own filled with apprehension.

"Uh, okay. Sure. Great! Thanks."

//Uh, oh.//

  
Walter Skinner's Apartment  
Crystal City, Virginia  
Saturday Night

Mulder noticed that Skinner's hand shook a little as he poured and served the brandy.

Nursing their drinks, the two men sat across from each other in the warm, dim-lit living room. Away from the safety of a public place, they no longer seemed to know what to say.

"Agent Mulder." Skinner finally broke the strained silence.

Startled, Mulder dared to look at him. "Yes, Sir?"

"I enjoyed tonight."

"Me, too, Sir."

"Thanks for dinner. And the company."

"No problem. It was the least I could do."

"Well, it wasn't necessary, but I'm glad you offered." He took a deep breath. "I really wanted a chance to talk to you outside the office."

Mulder's pulse began to race. "What about, Sir?"

Skinner downed the rest of his brandy, thumped the snifter on the coffee table, and retreated to the window. With his back to his guest, he ran his hands over what was left of his hair, then forced himself to turn around.

"Mulder, can I ask you a personal question?"

"I - I guess so."

Skinner took a deep breath. "Are you, uh, romantically *involved* right now?"

Mulder snorted. "*Me*, Sir? No. Not for a long time."

//Thank God!//

"Are you *interested* in anyone?"

Mulder suddenly found the bottom of his brandy snifter more interesting than an alien embryo. "Well, I, uh - I'm not - I don't... Yeah, kind of. Yes."

"Is it Agent Scully?"

Mulder didn't see that one coming. "Believe it or not, Sir, no. Scully and I are close *very close* but we're not a couple or anything like that."

Even as the agent watched his boss digest the information, he couldn't help but notice the expanse of Skinner's chest, how flat his stomach was, the way his powerful thighs strained the fabric of his jeans. Being attracted to a man wasn't something he was used to, but that didn't mean he didn't like it.

"Mulder, are you straight?"

He only half heard the question. "Sir?"

"I said, are you straight?"

Mulder had been caught looking. He buried his burning face in his hands. "I used to think so."

Skinner fought to suppress a grin. "Can I assume, then, that the person you're interested in is a man?"

"Can we please cut the crap, Sir? You know damn well who " He raised his head, his eyes as big as satellite dishes. "Oh, no!"

"Mulder, what is it?"

The younger man jumped to his feet, ready to bolt. "I get it! You want me to make a pass at you so you can charge me with attempted assault, insubordination, whatever, and fire my sorry ass."

Skinner didn't know whether to laugh or scream. "Jesus Christ, Mulder! Just when I think you couldn't get any more paranoid "

"What the hell's going on here, then? Don't try to tell me that *you're* gay!"

"Not technically, no."

"'Not *technically*?' What the fuck is *that* supposed to mean?"

Skinner sighed. "Sit down and I'll tell you."

Against his better judgment, Mulder stalked back to the couch, his eyes never leaving Skinner, who remained standing by the window.

"Thank you." The AD shoved his hands in his pockets. "I was a popular kid in high school, Mulder. A real jock. Even dated a cheerleader. But the person I really wanted to be with was my best friend. A *guy*. And, for some crazy reason, I thought he felt the same way about me. One day when we were horsing around, I kissed him. He freaked. Called me a degenerate, a pervert, a sick fuck. Beat the shit out of me." He shuddered, amazed how such an old memory could still stir up such fresh pain.

"Kevin never spoke to me again. But he told some of the other kids what I'd done. They started whispering and laughing behind my back, writing obscene things on my locker, generally treating me like a leper. Even ambushed me once and threatened to, um, turn me into a eunuch."

"I'm sorry, Sir." Mulder's voice was very small.

"That happened in my senior year. All of a sudden, I had no friends, no social life. I didn't know what to tell my family. I was disgusted with myself. So, right after graduation, I joined the Marines and volunteered to serve in Vietnam. Part of me had a death wish. The other part thought it would prove to everyone especially me that I was *normal*."

"And you never?"

"Nope. Not even once. I was extremely tempted, being with all those men day and night, but I was also extremely disciplined. Buried my feelings. Passed the ultimate test. When I got home, I dated lots of women, eventually married Sharon. And you know how *that* turned out."

He faced the window and rested his forehead on the cool glass. "My entire adult life has been a lie. A classic case of living in denial. For years, I willed myself not to think about being with a man." He addressed Mulder's reflection. "Then I met you..."

Mulder let out the breath he didn't realize he'd been holding.

"But I heard you'd been married, and thought you and Scully had something going, so I did nothing. Said nothing. Tried to *feel* nothing. I got pretty good at hiding my feelings not wearing my heart on my sleeve like *some* people I know "

An impish grin flashed across Mulder's face.

"but I couldn't ignore those feelings. Every time you disappeared, I couldn't sleep or eat. Every time you wound up in the hospital, I felt guilty about putting your life in danger, and wished I could change places with you. When your father was killed, and your mother had her stroke, and Scully nearly died, I wanted to hold you in my arms and take away your pain. And that time you faked committing suicide " He swallowed hard. "I almost drank myself into oblivion..."

If Skinner had just confessed that he was a shape-shifting bounty hunter, Mulder couldn't have looked more astonished. "Sir..."

"I swore I would *never* let you know how I felt. But after the way you've been acting since I pulled you from that pool, I started to wonder if you might be gay or bisexual. So, here we are..."

Mulder rose unsteadily to his feet, his legs the consistency of the pasta he'd eaten earlier. "If it makes you feel any better, Sir, you're the first man I've ever been consciously attracted to. So please, go ahead tell me how you feel."

Skinner whirled around. "You really want to know, Mulder? I've never been so scared in all my damned life! But I *want* you, and I've learned that desire is a much stronger emotion than fear. I guess the question is, do we do anything about it? I mean, I'm your boss, you're my best agent "

Mulder's eyebrows shot up despite himself.

"Well, you *are*. I've always respected you, admired your work and your tenacity, even though you can be a real pain in the ass sometimes."

"Yeah. I know. Sorry."

"And precisely because I respect you, if you just want to walk away right now, I'll understand. I won't hold it against you. Believe me, Mulder, *firing* your ass which I find anything but sorry, by the way is the last thing I want to do."

Forgetting that he was standing before his boss, Mulder let his eyes wander up and down Skinner's body, not bothering to disguise his obvious appreciation. His heart was hammering in his chest; surely Skinner could hear it. Even see it. "It probably would be better for both of us if I left, but I don't want to." He licked his dry lips. "You're very sexy, Sir."

Skinner had often dreamed about Mulder looking at him this way. Excited by this divine young man's boldness, the AD didn't try to hide his own longing as he appraised Mulder from head to toe. "So are you," he croaked as he shortened the gap between them.

They were all over each other, grabbing handfuls of flesh through fabric, lips crashing together, mouths opening, tongues daring to explore. They kissed deeply, hungrily. Skinner could taste brandy and a hint of coffee as he devoured Mulder's lips and tongue.

//I'm kissing Fox Mulder! And he's kissing me back! Maybe there *is* a God!//

The agent poured his soul into the kiss until his head swam. He wanted to drown in the gentle strength of the older man's mouth and hands. As the vestiges of Mulder's sanity floated away, he took ownership of Skinner's ass, pulled him in tight, and started grinding his hips into him.

Skinner felt liquid fire in his groin. His eyes flew open, he untangled his tongue from Mulder's, and gently pushed him back. It was the most difficult thing he'd ever done.

"What's wrong?" The agent was gasping for air. "Why'd you stop?"

Panting loudly, Skinner wiped his fogged-up glasses on his shirt. The look of confusion and hurt on Mulder's face made his heart ache. "We need to talk first."

"Talk?" He indicated the substantial bulge in Skinner's pants, then his own. "Talking's not what we need right now."

"Yes it is. You've got to think about how this could affect your career. Sleeping with your boss your *male* boss isn't the smartest thing a man in your position could do."

Mulder's rampaging hormones were making him stupid. "If we're careful and don't get caught, who cares?"

"You can't keep something like this a secret forever. Eventually, the higher ups will find out. And even though J. Edgar Hoover wore dresses, it doesn't mean the FBI approves of its male personnel blowing each other."

The mental image caused Mulder's flagging erection to perk up a bit.

//Damn you!//

He started for the door again, that old dog disappointment nipping at his heels. "You're right, Sir. I'm hardly worth throwing away your career over."

For a big man, Skinner could move with unexpectedly graceful speed. He caught up to Mulder and spun him around effortlessly. "I think you are."

The younger man stared at his boss with joyous disbelief. "What?"

"I don't give a rat's ass about my career. I like what I do, and it pays well, but it isn't going to keep me warm at night. I can always find another job, but there's only one Fox Mulder."

The agent was dumbfounded. It took him a while to get his brain and mouth to work at the same time. "You mean - you mean you'd give up the Bureau for ... This isn't just about sex, then?"

Skinner shook his head sadly. Taking Mulder by the hand, he led him back to the couch and sat down on the coffee table in front of him.

//Careful what you say, Skinner. Hold back. Don't make him run!//

He captured both of Mulder's hands in his.

"This is about a lot more than just sex. I want to be your friend *and* your lover. I'm nearly 50 years old. I don't know how many chances for happiness I've got left..."

"But - but, Sir! You're AD Walter Skinner, for Christ's sake! And I'm 'Spooky' Mulder, the joke of the FBI." He dropped his eyes. "I'm not good enough for you. I'm not good enough for anyone..."

Skinner grabbed Mulder by the shoulders. "Don't talk like that! Look at me, Fox!"

*That* got Mulder's attention.

"You are *not* a joke! You're a brilliant agent! It's not your fault if people are jealous of you, or don't understand you. You have no idea how incredible you are ... how much you mean to me." He traced Mulder's quivering lower lip with his thumb. "I want to make you happy, Fox."

The hazel eyes filled instantly. "Thank you, Sir." His voice hitched, and a single tear splashed down his cheek. He squeezed his eyes shut against the stinging tears.

Skinner drew Mulder closer and gently kissed both eyelids, then his forehead, the tip of his nose, both cheeks, his chin and, finally, his provocative mouth. This time when Mulder responded, the kisses were more tender, less animal.

"You know," he said when they separated and settled into a warm embrace, "everyone calls me 'Mulder.' Well, everyone but my mother and Scully's mother."

Skinner ran his fingers through Mulder's dark, silky hair, and brushed his lips across the top of his head, avoiding the wounded area. "I know you don't like your first name. I do, though."

Mulder sniffed. "Really?"

"Yeah. It's unique, like you. Sexy. Not like 'Walter.' So prim and proper. But if we should ever find ourselves in the throes of passion "

//Oh, please, God, please!//

" I'd rather not have us shouting out each other's *last* names. Not exactly romantic." He dabbed at Mulder's wet face with the end of his sleeve.

"So, what should I call *you*, Sir?"

He rolled his eyes. "Definitely not *that*!' Try 'Walter.' Coming from that luscious mouth of yours, maybe it won't sound so damned boring."

Mulder felt his ears getting hot.

//Christ, he's even cuter when he blushes!//

"Okay, *Walter*. You can call me 'Fox' if you really want to. But please don't ever, *ever* call me 'Foxy!'"

"Someone actually called you that? Jesus! Fine. As long as you never call me 'Wally.' Deal?" He stuck out a massive paw.

"Deal!"

*******

Walter and Fox spent the rest of the night talking. Actually, Fox did most of the talking while Walter listened. He'd heard so many rumours around the Bureau about Mulder, and was anxious to separate fact from fiction.

The younger man had always hated talking about his bizarre life especially his painful childhood but he found himself opening up like never before. He told him about his family, and how it fell apart after Samantha disappeared. He talked about his relationships with Phoebe and Diana. He confessed that one of his greatest fears was losing Scully, and that he felt responsible for most of the terrible things that had happened to her since she'd known him. And he admitted how much it cut him when his peers belittled him and his beliefs.

Throughout, Walter's eyes never left his face. He laughed at some of Fox's words, cried over others. Mulder marvelled that he could move another person this way especially a man like Walter Skinner.

They sat curled up on the couch, feet touching, holding hands, wiping and kissing away each other's tears. The longer they talked, the more entwined their bodies became.

Fox was getting drowsy and finding it difficult to concentrate. He wrapped his arms around Walter, snuggled against his broad chest, and closed his eyes. Listening to the steady heartbeat was so comforting. He couldn't recall the last time he'd felt this safe and content.

"Lucky for you, I'm too tired right now to try to seduce you," he teased sleepily.

Walter chuckled softly. "I can't see how that makes me *lucky*..."

It was nearly 4:00 a.m. Skinner was exhausted but ecstatic. How had this sexy young man this sweet, tortured soul ever wound up in his arms? He held Fox lovingly, nuzzling the soft, fragrant hair. Everything about him was intoxicating.

But Walter wasn't drunk on desire. He knew exactly what he was doing.

  
Walter Skinner's Apartment  
Sunday Morning

Walter awoke to a mid-morning sky, stiff from hours of sleeping sitting up. His arms were pins and needless from holding Fox. His neck was killing him.

He felt absolutely wonderful.

Fox stirred, and Walter kissed the top of his head, careful to avoid the stitches.

"Hi, there, sleeping beauty."

"Hi, there, yourself." Groaning, he sat up, ran his hands through his dishevelled hair, and wiped the sleep from his red, puffy eyes. "I'm sure I'm not very beautiful, though." His left cheek bore the imprint of the buttons on Skinner's shirt. "Oh, God, Walter! Look! I drooled on you! Geez! I'm so embarrassed..."

Walter laughed and stroked Fox's face. "Sshhh. You're the most beautiful thing I've ever woken up to. And you can drool on me anytime you like."

They stared at each other for a few moments before their lips met in a devastating kiss.

When they finally parted, Fox smiled and shook his head in amazement. "I don't know what it is you see in me, but I just hope you never stop seeing it."

"Not a chance, kiddo." He kissed him again.

//We're definitely going to have to do something about improving his self-esteem!//

"Can I make you something to eat? I'm starving."

"So I noticed." Fox leaned in for yet another kiss.

*******

Fox "helped" Walter make Spanish omelettes, toast and coffee, and the two men enjoyed a leisurely brunch.

Mulder asked Skinner where he'd learned to cook so well, and soon they were delving into his past. Fox was glad to hear that Walter's early years were fairly happy and normal. His father was cold and unaffectionate, much like Bill Mulder, but his late mother had been warm and nurturing.

Walter talked about his family, friends and lovers; his days as a Marine; his college years; and his history with the Bureau.

Fox's chest tightened when the AD described how lonely, miserable and frustrated he'd been the past few years.

"If it weren't for you, Fox, I don't know how I would have managed to show up for work every morning. Seeing you was all that kept me going."

"But I drive you up the wall!"

Walter squeezed the other man's hand. "Yeah, but you make me feel *alive*. You care more about your work than anyone I've ever met. I love your passion for what you believe in. You never back down. And you're so loyal to Scully, to me, to " He stared at Mulder.

"What is it?"

"You've got some egg on your chin." Walter reached across the table and wiped the food away with his napkin.

"Well, *you've* got some jam in the corner of your mouth." He came over to Walter's chair, held his chin, and licked at the sticky sweetness with deliberate slowness. "Much better."

Skinner's cock stirred.

"Uh, Walter, I've been meaning to ask you..."

The older man looked up and cleared his throat. "Yes?"

Sheepishly, Mulder extended a hand until it hovered above Skinner's head. "I've always wanted to, you know..."

Skinner rolled his eyes. "Go ahead, you brat!"

Fox's curious fingers danced across the smooth scalp and through the fine fringe of hair, being careful not to knock Walter's glasses off. He'd never touched a bald head before, and he liked the way this one felt.

//Erotic.//

The tentative touches become sensual caresses. He bent down and kissed the bare crown.

Little shockwaves bounced through Skinner's body, making the fine hair on his arms stand up. He'd always been sensitive about his baldness, and never imagined that his head could be an erogenous zone, but Mulder's attentions were making him hard. "What - what would you like to do now?" he finally dared to ask.

The agent's answer wasn't the one he expected. "What I'd really like to do is brush my teeth. It's been " he looked at his watch "about 18 hours since the last time. Yech!"

"Well, I just happen to have a spare toothbrush."

"Why am I not surprised?" He gave Skinner's satiny pate another kiss. "After that, I'd like to shave, get out of these stale clothes "

//Oh, man!//

" and take a shower. I wish I'd brought some stuff..." He stretched seductively, tilting his pelvis in the general direction of Skinner's face.

Walter was mesmerized. "Uh, I've got some disposable razors and shaving cream. And I could lend you something to wear..." He stood and pivoted quickly, hoping his erection wasn't too obvious.

Fox followed him up the stairs. "God, Walter, you're so prepared." 

"Well, I was a Marine." 

Fox looked at his butt appreciatively. "Yeah, I know."

It was getting difficult to walk, but Walter went into the bathroom and started laying out the things Fox needed: shaving cream, razor, toothbrush, toothpaste, mouthwash, shampoo, towels.

"Thanks. Hey what are you doing?"

The AD was scooping up his electric razor and his own toothbrush. "I'll shave and wash up in the downstairs bathroom."

Mulder began to unbutton his shirt. "Why? There's plenty of room in here. You've got two sinks."

Skinner's heart rate quickened as he watched the shirt come off. He loved the way Mulder was built, and wanted to press his face into the warm, fuzzy chest. Skinner untucked his Henley so that it would cover the swelling mound in his pants. "Uh, okay."

Fox was disappointed that Walter remained fully dressed. But he was pleased about what he was trying

very unsuccessfully to hide.

//God, he's *huge*!//

They stood, side by side, in front of the mirror, shaving, brushing, gargling, stealing sideways glances at each other.

When they finished, Fox touched Walter's arm. "Now what?"

The other man shivered. "Uh, you shower first. I'll go find you some clothes. Leave them in the bedroom for you." He coughed nervously. "Then I'll go clean up the kitchen."

"Don't. I'll help you when I'm done in here."

"No, that's okay. You're my guest..."

The younger man stepped forward, put his arms around his boss' thick neck, and drew him close so close that they could feel each other's hard cocks through their jeans. Walter froze.

"Fox, there's still a lot we have to talk about..."

Mulder silenced him with a quick kiss. "Walter, I'm crazy about you. I realize that things are happening pretty fast between us, but I *know* I want to be with you. Nothing's felt this right in a long time. But if you're not ready to go further right now, that's okay. I just want you to know that *I* am." He kissed his forehead and released him. "I'm here if you want me."

"Fox "

"It's all right." He started undoing his belt.

Walter fled to his room and collapsed on the bed, listening as Fox turned on the shower.

He got up and went over to the dresser, pulling out a T-shirt, jogging pants, sweat socks, and Jockey shorts. He put the clothes on a chair and stared down at them while Special Agent Fox Mulder got naked just down the hall.

*******

Fox stood under the shower head and let the hot water cascade over his aching body.

His erection was killing him, and he was tempted to do something about it.

But he didn't want to touch himself. He wanted Walter to touch him. He closed his eyes and groaned at the thought.

//Come on, Walter, get in here! Get in here *now*!//

His eyes popped open when he heard the shower door open, and felt large hands on his shoulders.

"May I join you?" Skinner sounded timid.

Mulder spun around, put his hands on Skinner's waist and stepped into the circle of his arms.

"What took you so long?"

They melted into a single being, moaning as their wet cocks collided and their insatiable mouths connected. Hands gliding over water-slicked skin, jutting erections digging into each other's bellies, tongues wrestling ... it was even better than either one had imagined. When they finally broke for air, Walter could barely talk. "I don't know how much longer I can hold on..."

Practically wheezing himself, Fox turned Walter around so that they were facing the same direction, with Mulder's thick cock pressing against the crack of Skinner's ass.

//Now there's an interesting sensation!//

Fox squirted some liquid soap into his hands. Without hesitation, he reached around Walter's middle, took his slick hard-on

//*definitely* huge!//in his right hand, and began fondling the scrotum with his left.

"Oh, God, Fox "

"I've done this to myself a million times, but not to anyone else, so if I get too rough, let me know. I don't want to hurt you."

Walter couldn't believe this was actually, finally happening. For more than 30 years, he'd wanted to be touched by another man like this. And for Fox Mulder to be the first and, hopefully, the *only* man in his life ... it was damned near too much. Skinner tried to control himself, make it last, but he was fighting decades of pent-up desire. Those fine, long-fingered hands milking him ... Fox's cock throbbing against his ass ... the full lips nuzzling his neck and shoulder...

Skinner came in forceful, jerky spasms, a hoarse cry escaping his lips. For just a second, he thought he was going to black out.

When Walter was finally spent, Fox held him until his breathing returned to normal.

"Was...was that okay?"

Walter turned his head and kissed him. "More than okay. Much more. Thank you."

"You're welcome."

"Your turn, gorgeous."

They reversed positions, but Walter started with Fox's nipples, rubbing and tweaking them into hard little knobs. Mulder had never realized how sensitive they were. By the time Skinner moved down to Fox's groin, he was writhing.

Walter took the formidable erection in both hands, playing with the sensitive tip and stroking the shaft at the same time.

Fox reached around behind him so he could grab Walter's ass

//so tight!//and dug his fingers into the firm flesh. When Fox started bucking his hips forward, Walter kept pumping with his right hand, but let the left one drop so he could massage Fox's balls.

Fox's thrashing grew so wild and his breathing so ragged that Walter was afraid that he would fall or faint. Then, with a strangled cry, Fox climaxed forcefully, covering Walter's hands and wrists with milky fluid. He *would* have fallen if Walter hadn't grabbed him under the arms.

Cradling Fox against his chest, Walter pressed his lips against his ear. "You're not a fox. You're a tiger!"

//*My* tiger!//

When Fox got his breath and legs back, Walter turned him around and kissed him passionately. He wanted so badly to tell Fox how he *really* felt, but knew it was too early.

Instead, he began cleaning the semen from Fox's belly, groin and thighs. When he was done, Fox did the same for him.

Skinner loved the way the soapy water made Mulder's skin gleam in the muted light of the shower stall, the way his skin felt under his slippery hands. He wanted to touch all of him: his underarms, the back of his knees, his elbows, the small of his back, the enticing canyon between his butt cheeks, especially the tight little hole... His own lack of inhibition astonished him.

Fox's busy hands couldn't get enough of Walter, either.

As the lovers enjoyed the warmth of their embrace and the water, they shivered whenever exploring fingers discovered previously uncharted territory.

By some silent, mutual agreement, they left each other's cocks alone until the end of their investigations. They were excited to discover how hard they were so soon again. That hadn't happened to Walter in a long, long time.

They turned off the cooling water and stepped out of the stall. Walter grabbed Fox in a lusty bear hug and wrapped them both in a huge bath sheet.

"I don't feel like getting dressed just yet. Do you?"

"Hell, no!"

Joined at the lip, they stumbled into the bedroom. Walter eased Fox down on his back, but didn't join him right away on top of the covers; he was enjoying the view too much. "God, you're beautiful! I just want to look at you for a while..."

This was a win-win situation: they both got off on looking and being looked at by each other.

"You're the one who's beautiful, Walter. God, what a body!"

Walter stretched out beside Fox, propping himself up on his left elbow. Mulder pulled his head down to meet his lips, but Skinner pulled back when his young lover started to stroke his cock. "Relax, babe," he murmured soothingly. "I want you to just lie back and enjoy yourself."

He began by covering Fox's face with kisses while pinching his nipples, drawing forth little gasps. Drawn to those magnetic lips, he covered Mulder's sexy, half-open mouth with his own, and probed it with his tongue. As the two men shared deep, delicious kisses, Walter let his hand flutter down Fox's chest and stomach until he reached his cock. It was exquisitely hard. Walter felt pre-cum on the tip, which he rubbed with the palm of his hand before encircling the shaft and pumping with a slow, steady rhythm.

Fox groaned into Walter's ravenous mouth.

The older man then moved on to the heavy sac. Fox instinctively reached down to touch himself, but Walter swatted his shaky hand away.

"That's *mine*!" he growled playfully.

Walter then sat up and straddled Fox so their erections made contact. He bent down and nibbled Fox's earlobes before moving on to his neck and the hollow of his throat, leaving a trail of tiny bitemarks.

Mulder grabbed at Skinner's ass. "Walter..." It was barely a whisper.

Skinner's next target was the chest. Fox started to undulate as Walter licked, nipped and finally sucked each nipple. The older man then used his tongue to slowly make a wet path down to Fox's eager cock.

Mulder knew what was coming next. He shuddered with anticipation.

Sure enough, Walter grabbed Fox's ankles and pulled him to the edge of the bed, then got down on his knees on the thick carpet. He spread his lover's legs wide open so he could have full access to him. In his dreams, he'd performed this little number on Mulder many times; he hoped he could do it as expertly for real.

Walter started by planting gentle kisses all over Fox's cock and balls. Mulder inhaled sharply and fondled Skinner's scalp as he dove between the younger man's legs.

When Fox's swollen organ danced under his lips, Walter turned his full attention to the highly-responsive tip, and he invaded the small, moist slit with his tongue. He was surprised how much he enjoyed the salty flavour, and couldn't wait to taste what was coming. He licked the slippery head, then ran his tongue up and down the shaft.

A strange, gurgling noise erupted from deep inside Fox.

With gentle urgency, Walter nibbled Fox's cock from tip to root. Mulder whimpered as Skinner travelled further south and gobbled up one ball, then the other, then both at the same time, all while stroking the twitching member with his right hand.

Mulder was making some pretty interesting sounds at this point. Skinner stopped sucking his balls and took as much of his erect cock into his mouth as he could, being careful not to snag the delicate flesh with his teeth. He gagged a couple of times, but by concentrating on relaxing and enjoying this new experience, he soon got used to the feel of Fox's organ touching the back of his throat.

The object of his ministrations, meanwhile, was fighting the urge to shoot his load into his lover's mouth. He knew that wouldn't be fair. After all, this was Walter's first time giving head. Fox moved his damp hands down to the other man's shoulders and pushed at him half-heartedly.

"Walter," he gasped, "let me pull out. I'm going to come..."

His mouth quite full, Walter just grunted, massaged Fox's balls, and sucked even harder.

"Oh, God, Walter! Oh, God!" Fox lost it. Straining so he could watch Skinner's head bobbing between his legs, he came with a strangled cry, his mind exploding as his body convulsed.

The thick, warm liquid poured into Skinner's mouth. He swallowed it there wasn't all that much, really, since Fox had ejaculated just a little while ago and kept sucking until Fox's cock softened. He then crawled back onto the bed, where Mulder was lying with one arm over his face, his chest heaving. Walter noticed that his cheeks were wet.

"Fox, what's the matter? Did I hurt you?" He gathered the weeping man into his arms.

"No! It you were incredible!" He sniffled. "It - it's just that I didn't expect you to - to *do* that. You're too good to me "

Walter kissed away the last few tears. "*Nothing's* too good for you got that? I told you, I just want to make you happy." He smiled, feeling satisfied with his performance. "So, I did all right, huh?"

"God, yes!"

"I'm sure you've had better..."

Fox looked directly into Walter's serious brown eyes. "I may have had more experienced lovers do that, Walter, but I've *never* had a better one."

"Thanks." Skinner's voice was filled with emotion. He caged Mulder's achingly-beautiful face in his hands and kissed him with trembling lips. He jumped when he felt Fox's hand in his lap, running his fingers through the soft pubic hair.

"Lie down. I want to make love to you with my mouth."

"Fox, just because I "

"I *want* to, Walter. I know I don't *have* to, but I want to."

Mulder did his utmost to caress, kiss, lick and suck every square inch of Skinner's body. Walter felt wet all over, and didn't know if it was from his lover's saliva, his own perspiration, or a combination of the two.

He nearly whined with disappointment when Fox climbed off the bed.

"Give me your hand, Walter. Come with me."

Suffering mightily, Walter let the younger man lead him across the room to a spot beside his dresser. Fox gently pushed him against the wall and pressed into him, assaulting Walter's mouth with his own. Skinner grabbed Mulder's narrow hips and rubbed his hard-on along his thigh. He wanted to come so badly...

But Fox wasn't going to let that happen just yet. He sank to his knees and drew Walter's balls into his mouth while thumbing the crown of his drooling erection. When Walter started stroking his hair, Mulder let Skinner's balls drop into his right hand and opened his mouth wide to receive the engorged cock. He'd had a few good blow jobs in his day, so he basically knew what to do.

Skinner made a conscious effort not to force Mulder's head. He didn't want his inexperienced lover to choke but, at the same time, the thought of fucking his face was almost overwhelming.

Encouraged by Skinner's enthusiasm, Mulder tried to shove the entire hard-on into his mouth, and felt it scrape the back of his throat. He clamped his lips around it and sucked, labouring not to gag.

"Easy, Fox. Slow down!" Skinner entwined his fingers in Mulder's hair and eased him off a bit. He then began guiding the dark head, moving it slowly, while rocking his hips at the same pace.

Once he got used to the motion, Mulder began enjoying himself. He could feel Skinner get harder and, though it didn't seem possible, even larger. Fox clutched his whimpering lover's muscular butt and drew him further down his throat, sucking greedily.

That did it. Walter shouted Fox's name over and over again and let go, filling the kneeling agent's mouth with hot, tangy liquid.

Initially, Mulder was unsettled by the unfamiliarity of the taste and the sensation, but the more he gulped and swallowed, the more he liked it. Skinner finally had to beg him to stop.

Reluctantly, Fox let Walter slip from between his lips.

Walter's legs had turned to water. He began sliding down the wall, and needed Fox's help to sit down without cracking his tail bone.

"Are you okay, Walter? I tried to keep my teeth out of the way, but I think I grazed you a few times. I'm sorry if I "

Walter shook his head and hugged Fox tightly. "I'm fine. You were fantastic." He gently touched Mulder's sex-swollen mouth. "How are *you* doing?"

"I'm okay. Of course, I'll need a lot of practice..."

Skinner kissed him, and was fascinated to taste himself upon Mulder's lips. He slowly got to his feet, pulling Mulder up with him. "This old man needs to lie down."

"You're not old, Walter. If you were any younger, I don't think I could handle it."

They tumbled onto the bed together. Skinner spooned Mulder, draping his arm protectively across his chest.

"Fox?"

"Hmm?"

"We need to talk about how we're going to handle things at work."

He sighed. "Yeah. It's not going to be easy, is it?"

"That's the understatement of the year. We'll have to behave like we always have "

"Except for last week."

Walter laughed. "You got *that* right! No more flirting or hanging around my office all day."

"Did I do that?" He was all innocence.

Skinner nipped at his shoulder playfully. "As if you didn't know..."

"I couldn't help it, Walter. Really."

His lover's voice took on a more sober tone. "We'll both have to try harder, be careful how we look at each other, what we say, what we do..."

Fox tried to lighten things up. "Even behind closed doors?"

Skinner rolled Mulder over to face him. "I'm serious, Fox! This is important! I'm pretty sure that my office is bugged and my phone line is tapped, and I wouldn't be surprised if yours is, too. I don't trust anyone in that building except you and Scully. We've got to keep our personal lives private."

Mulder pouted. "I realize that, Walter. But..."

Melting, Skinner put his arms around his special Special Agent and brushed his lips against his forehead. "But *what*, Fox?"

"If we sweep for bugs and are *really* careful, couldn't we do it in each other's offices? Just once? Late one night, when everyone else has gone home? Can you honestly say that you've never fantasized about

uh, you know sucking each other off at work?"

Walter chuckled. "Of course I have. And I *would* like to do that sometime in the future. Just not tomorrow, okay?"

Fox smiled back, relieved that he hadn't pissed Walter off.

"But during business hours, we can't forget who we are. What are roles are."

"Yes, Master. Your humble minion lives only to serve you."

Skinner ruffled Mulder's damp hair affectionately. "Even though we're lovers now, smart ass, as your boss I'll still have to put you in your place whenever you get out of line."

"I understand, Walter. I wouldn't have it any other way. I don't expect any special treatment from you now that we're sleeping together." He examined Skinner's face thoughtfully. "It's going to kill me the next time you give me shit, but I'll get over it ... just as long as you make it up to me in bed afterward."

Walter kissed Fox's palm. "You mean... make-up sex?"

"They say that's the best kind."

Mulder closed his eyes as Walter took his index finger into his mouth and began to suck. "Ooooh, that feels wonderful. Walter?"

"Hmm?"

"I'll have to tell Scully about us."

The sucking stopped abruptly. "No way."

Mulder sat up. "Come on! Be reasonable! She's my partner and my best friend."

Skinner tried not to look wounded.

Fox seized his hand.

//Shit!//

"I mean, she's my *other* best friend. She's also smarter and more observant than the two of us put together. If she figures it out before I tell her and, believe me, she *will* figure it out, sooner or later I'm a dead man! We're both dead."

Skinner lay on his back and rubbed his eyes. "God damn it!"

"What's the matter?"

"I'd like to keep this just between us for a while."

"Why?"

"Because it's nobody else's business. That's why."

"Scully isn't just anybody."

Skinner sighed. "I know, Fox. It's just that..." His voice trailed away.

"It's just that *what*? What are you so afraid of?"

Walter sat up. "Besides getting caught, you mean?"

"I thought you didn't care about losing your job. I though you cared more about me."

Skinner put his arms around Mulder. "I *do*. And that's my point. This could destroy your career..."

"They can't fire me just because I'm sleeping with you."

"No, but they can make your life miserable, starting with an endless parade of 'faggot' jokes that'll make the 'Spooky Mulder' stuff seem like terms of endearment. And they'll probably shut down the X-Files. For good this time. Then they'll separate you and Scully, give you the shittiest assignments imaginable, maybe threaten to ship you off to remote posts."

"I'll quit."

"Yeah? Then what?" Grim-faced, he held Mulder at arm's length. "Your work is your life! Are you willing to give all that up for me? For us?"

Mulder dropped his eyes. "I - I don't - I don't..."

Skinner swallowed the boulder that had formed in his throat. "I didn't think so. *That's* why I don't think you should tell Scully about us. If you decide this relationship isn't worth pursuing any further, why burden her? Why humiliate yourself?" He let go of Fox and got out of bed, padding briskly toward the bathroom.

"Walter, wait!" Mulder shot after him, grabbing his solid shoulder in a vain attempt to stop him or turn him around. But Fox was as fast as his namesake, and managed to dart in front of his strapping lover before he could barricade himself in the bathroom. Skinner's face was the perfect picture of misery, and Mulder hated himself for being responsible.

"Oh, Walter!" He threw his arms around the AD. "I'm sorry! I didn't mean to "

Skinner patted Mulder's back. His voice was thick. "It's okay, Fox. I never expected you to make any sacrifices for me. I'm the one who should be apologizing to you. I shouldn't have let this happen in the first place..."

"How can you say that? *I* have no regrets about us except that we didn't get together sooner." He touched his forehead to Skinner's. "Look, I didn't mean to imply that my work means more to me than you do. It's just that I've never really thought about giving up my work for anyone ... until now."

Skinner exhaled. "I'm just so afraid that you'll wind up resenting me one day. I'd rather you walk away now ..."

"Would you please stop talking about ending things? Unless that's what you want."

"You know damn well it isn't."

"Then shut up and kiss me."

Skinner obeyed enthusiastically. This was the Fox Mulder he knew and adored.

"Fox?"

"Hmm?"

"When the time is right, let's tell Scully together. Okay?"

"I'd like that, Walter." Mulder wanted to know what his lover considered to be the "right time," but was willing to worry about that later.

//God, I've got it bad!//

They climbed back into bed, an octopus with two heads.

As Mulder played with Skinner's chest hair, he figured it was as good a time as any to ask him about the rumour that had been flying around the Bureau about a department shakeup. "If you're under orders not to say anything, Walter, I respect that. But I feel that Scully and I have the right to know if we're going to be yanked off the X-Files, or " He snuggled even closer, suddenly feeling cold. " or if we'll have to report to someone else."

Skinner sighed and pulled the sheet up past their chests. "I really don't know what the hell's going on, Fox," he said, caressing his lover's arm. "I'm as much in the dark about this one as you are. All I know is that something's coming down, and I think it's going to happen soon." He held Mulder's chin and tilted his head until their eyes met, stirred by the troubled expression. "Just remember that no matter what happens, I'll do everything I can to help and protect you both you and Scully. Okay?"

Mulder nodded and kissed Skinner's cheek. "Thank you, Walter."

Holding each other, the two men drifted away as the afternoon sun flooded Walter Skinner's bedroom.

*******

The room was dark when they awoke. And they were hungry.

Without a word, Mulder rolled on top of Skinner and ravished his inviting mouth. As their tongues engaged in sword play, Skinner ran his hands down Mulder's back until they reached his taut, athletic ass. He kneaded each cheek in the opposite direction: together, apart, together, apart. Fox moaned every time his anus was exposed to the cool night air. He wanted Walter to touch him there again, like he did in the shower, but was too self-conscious to ask. Some other time...

He was itching to get his hands on Walter's ass, too, but that just wasn't going to happen in this particular position. Instead, he braced his arms on either side of Skinner's body so he could pump his hips faster and harder against his fully-erect cock and into his flat stomach.

Skinner loved the weight of Mulder's body, the taste of his mouth, the enticing smell of his skin, the friction of his dick sliding up and down along his own.

Mulder had fully intended to travel down to Skinner's groin to take him in his mouth again, but this felt too good to stop. Much too good.

"Oh, God, Walter, I think I'm going to come," Mulder hissed between breathy kisses.

"Me too! Can you wait a bit?"

"I'll try "

Just when Mulder thought his hard-on would shatter like glass, Walter squeaked "now!" out of the corner of his mouth.

They reached orgasm together, crying out between clenched teeth.

When sanity returned, Mulder put his rubbery arms around Skinner's neck and rested his head on his shoulder. "That was amazing! I don't think I've never come at the same time as anyone before."

"I can't remember the last time I did, either. And I can't believe I've had three orgasms in one afternoon! No one's ever affected me the way you do, Fox." Skinner kissed the top of Mulder's head, then laughed heartily.

Mulder frowned. "What?"

Skinner's eyes twinkled. "You should see yourself. Talk about a bad case of bed head!"

"You're just jealous because you'll never have that problem again."

Walter swatted Fox's ass. "Nasty boy." He started cleaning him with the sheet. "I think we'd better take a bath."

"Is your tub big enough for two?"

"I don't know. I've never had anyone else in it before. Let's go find out."

******

While Skinner made dinner, Mulder took care of the previous meal's dishes and cleaned up as Walter went along.

Skinner put on rice and vegetables, then threw a couple of steaks on the gas barbecue that he kept on the balcony. They drank iced tea while they ate and talked. After all, tomorrow was Monday...

"Walter." Mulder reached across the table and placed his hand over his lover's. "Thanks for saving me."

Skinner squeezed the smaller hand back. His voice almost cracked. "Same here."

"I wish this weekend didn't have to end."

Walter got up from the table and kneeled beside Fox's chair. "I know. Me too."

He put his arms around Mulder, who gladly returned the embrace, resting his chin on the older man's head. They remained that way until Skinner's knees started to scream. Then they got to their feet and hugged for a long time.

By 11 o'clock, the supper dishes were washed, dried and put away, and Mulder knew it was time to go.

"What about my clothes?" He'd been wearing Walter's since their bath.

"Leave them here. I'll wash them for you. Wear my stuff home."

"I'm going to wear these " he indicated the borrowed T-shirt and sweat pants "to bed."

Skinner caressed his cheek

//at least a part of me will be with you tonight//then silently ushered him toward the door.

But Mulder was good at procrastinating. "Before I go, shouldn't I help you redo the bed? I mean, we got the sheets pretty dirty..."

"I don't mind. I'm going to sleep in them like that."

Mulder was shocked. "Walter Skinner!"

They both laughed. Then Skinner took his lover in his arms.

"Good night, Fox."

It was sweetest kiss Mulder had ever known.

"Good night, Walter."

They spent the next 10 minutes "saying" good bye. Skinner didn't want him to leave, and Mulder didn't want to go, but neither wanted to ask too much of the other this early into the relationship. Besides, they both knew that Walter's dress clothes would be too big for Fox, and that the agent couldn't show up for work tomorrow wearing sweats.

They finally forced themselves to separate, and Walter watched Fox walk backward down the hall to the elevator. Their eyes didn't leave each other's faces until the car came. They exchanged sad little waves as Fox got on, and Skinner's stomach flip-flopped as the elevator doors swished closed and carried Mulder away.

Deliriously happy and depressed at the same time, he stepped back into his quiet apartment. Slowly reliving each moment of this glorious weekend, he got ready for bed.

True to his twisted word, he didn't change the linens. Their semen had dried, leaving sections of the sheet stiff and the air ripe with the musky scent of their lovemaking. Walter inhaled deeply, savouring it.

He stripped off all his clothes, then dug Mulder's wrinkled shirt out of the laundry hamper. He set the alarm and climbed into bed, wrapping himself up in the stained bedclothes. He held the shirt up to his face, breathing in the exhilarating aroma of the man he wanted to share his life with.

"Good night, Fox," he whispered aloud. "I love you."

30

 

* * *

 

Resuscitation II: Blowing Out the Candles (1/1)  
by m. butterfly  
  
Rating: NC-17 for explicit m/m sex, language  
Category: M/Sk Slash  
Spoilers: none  
Archive: Anywhere--just leave my name on it  
Synopsis: Fox Mulder and Walter Skinner work on building the relationship they started following an eye-opening accident.  
Author's note: The story picks up where Resuscitation (I) left off: the morning after Mulder and Skinner's first "date " (just prior to the start of Season Six). Many thanks to Michael and Andreanne for beta-reading, and Susan for advice and encouragement. Serious feedback always appreciated (and answered) at . Oh, yeah--lines introduced and ended with a double slash // are internal and not spoken out loud by the characters; asterisks * enclosing words or phrases indicate emphasis.  
Disclaimer: The characters Fox Mulder, Walter Skinner and Dana Scully belong to Chris Carter, Ten Thirteen Productions and Fox Broadcasting). This is a work of fiction intended only for private enjoyment.

* * *

Resuscitation II: Blowing Out the Candles  
by m. butterfly

"There's a somebody I'm longing to see:  
I hope that he turns out to be  
Someone to watch over me.  
I'm a little lamb who's lost in a wood;  
I know I could always be good  
To one who'll watch over me."

Someone To Watch Over Me  
by George Gershwin & Ira Gershwin

  
Fox Mulder's Apartment  
Alexandria, Virginia  
Monday, 6:48 am

Something wasn't right.

The bed felt too small. Too empty.

Just breaking the surface of consciousness, Mulder reached out, but couldn't find *him*.

"Walter?" His voice was heavy with sleep. He cracked open an eye and was momentarily disoriented.

"Oh." He was at home, alone on the couch, as usual.

//Man! What a dream!//

Mulder generally hated sleeping because of the nightmares that had plagued him since his sister's disappearance those many years ago. But last night had been different. This time he'd had an incredibly erotic--incredibly *vivid*--dream about Walter Skinner. Dreamt about them having spectacular sex in Skinner's shower, in his bed, against the wall...

Suddenly it was awfully warm in Mulder's apartment--especially between his legs. He kicked off the tangled blanket and looked at his watch. Almost seven.

//Might as well get up and get ready for--what day is it, anyway?//

He checked his wrist again. It was Monday. Where had the weekend gone?

Yawning, he shuffled off to the bathroom, but when he pulled down his sweatpants to relieve himself, he turned to stone.

"Oh, my God!"

They weren't *his* sweatpants. The T-shirt wasn't his either. They were Skinner's too. He hadn't been dreaming after all. He said a silent prayer and sat down on the toilet, afraid that his legs would betray him.

Now that Mulder *and* his cock were fully awake, he continued what he'd started when he went to bed last night: recounting every moment spent with his sexy boss since Saturday.

Up to that point in his life, Fox Mulder had barely hugged another man, including his father. Hell, he wasn't big on physical contact with anyone but Scully. And it still amazed him how he'd learned to return her affection.

Mulder ran his fingers over his lips, and blushed to think of where they'd been the last two days. He'd kissed Walter Skinner from head to toe--literally. He closed his eyes and groaned at the powerful memory of the tastes of Walter's mouth, balls, cock...

And Skinner had been equally generous to him. He'd never been with another man either, but Mulder had no complaints about his manual or oral skills. It had been the best sex of Mulder's life. He tried to imagine how good it would be once they actually figured out what they were doing. Too bad there wasn't a "how-to" book for nouveaux homosexuals: Gay Sex For Dummies.

He almost wished that the sex was all he cared about. A casual, physical relationship--one devoid of love--would be so much easier to handle, especially when it came to an end. And Mulder was convinced that it would.

//Who'd want to spend the rest of his life with *me*?//

But he had feelings for his boss. Undeniably deep ones. And Skinner obviously cared about him ... for now, anyway. The way Mulder figured it, it was only a matter of time before he fucked things up with Walter and sent him running.

Skinner was right; telling Scully about them was a bad idea. While they were romantically involved, she'd be uncomfortable whenever she was around them. And after Walter finally smartened up and dumped him, she'd hold a permanent grudge against him for breaking her partner's heart. No matter what, Scully would always be Mulder's champion, and he loved her for it.

Mulder looked between his legs. His erection had deflated, along with his temporary happiness. He wouldn't need to take a cold shower after all.

He undressed and folded the borrowed clothing neatly, wondering when Skinner would want it back. Wondering when they'd be together again. Wondering how long their relationship would last. Wondering what it would be like to fuck Walter Skinner ... and to be fucked by him.

He turned on the shower, ignoring the hot water tap.

*******

He was towel drying his hair when the phone rang.

//Scully?//

"Mulder."

"Hi, Fox."

A huge, shit-eating grin spread across Mulder's face. "Hey, Walter! Where are you?"

"In the car. I called before I left home, but I guess you were in the shower."

"Yeah, I just got out."

"Really? What are you wearing?"

Mulder chuckled. "You are *bad*! But, for your information, Mr. Phone Sex, I'm wearing a towel. A very *small* towel."

"Maybe I should come over there and see what's under that towel!"

"Maybe you should."

Skinner sighed. "I wish I could, but I've got an eight o'clock appointment with the Director.

"Lucky you. Uh, Walter?" 

"Yeah?"

"I was just thinking..." Mulder's mouth was suddenly dry. "Uh, if you're not doing anything tonight, and nothing comes up at work, I was just going to stay in and watch the game, and I was, uh, wondering if--"

"I'd love to come over."

"Great! I'll pick up some dinner on the way home. Do you like Chinese?"

"Love it."

They discussed what to order, discovering they enjoyed many of the same dishes. Mulder made a mental note to pick up some beer, too. The same kind he saw in Walter's fridge. It was probably his favourite.

"Fox, I'm almost at work." There was real regret in his voice. "I'd rather stay on the line and talk to you, but--"

"I know. Me too. But we can talk--and *stuff*--tonight. Maybe I'll even let you play with what's under my towel."

"Damn right you will! That's *my* toy," Skinner laughed. "Gotta go. Bye, babe."

//I love you.//

"Bye, Walter."

//I think I love you.//

*******

FBI Headquarters  
Washington, DC  
Monday, 8:40 a.m.

Her hand paused above the door knob, Special Agent Dana Scully braced herself. Monday mornings usually found her partner in a sombre mood. He was one of the few people she knew who actually resented having weekends off. His social life was nearly non-existent, and he was becoming more withdrawn as the years passed. She felt a stab of guilt that she'd been spending less time with him lately.

But when she entered their office, she found him cheerfully flipping through a weekly tabloid, feet up on his desk, humming tunelessly.

"Good morning, Mulder."

"Hi, Scully." He closed the paper. "So, tell me: how was the big date with Dick?"

She let her bag drop with a thump, regarding him with the same withering look she reserved for adolescent boys, boorish construction workers, and dirty old men. "For the hundredth time, Mulder, his name is *Rod*."

The corners of his mouth curled devilishly upward. "Dick, Rod--same thing."

Scully folded her arms across her chest and shook her head, secretly glad that he felt like teasing her again. It was the first time since last week's accident that he'd made a "dick" joke. "Well, I can see you're feeling better. Back to your old, mature self."

Mulder snorted. If she only knew how *unlike* his old self he was...

Scully observed her partner. He looked like he hadn't slept much. A quick checkup was just what the doctor ordered. Without warning, she brushed his feet off the desk, took him by the chin, gently removed his reading glasses, and studied his eyes closely.

"Scully! What the--?"

"Calm down, Mulder. I'm just making sure you're okay." Her delicate fingers pushed back his hair so she could examine the injured forehead. Everything *seemed* fine. But something about him was different...

"I called you yesterday," she said, perched on the edge of the desk. "Several times. To see how you were. Your cell phone was turned off, so I left a couple of messages on your machine."

"Yeah, I know. Thanks."

"You never called me back."

Mulder looked away. "I was out."

"I figured as much. I thought you'd call when you got in."

"It was late."

//Since when has that ever stopped you?//

Something struck her and she cocked her head. "Maybe I'm not the only one who had a hot date..."

He made a feeble attempt to leer at her. "So your date was *hot*, huh? Give me details!"

"Don't change the subject, Mulder. I believe we were talking about what *you* did over the weekend."

"Nothing." He returned to the tabloid. "Hmmm! There's been another Bigfoot sighting in British Columbia..."

//He's hiding something!//

If Mulder had just started seeing someone, it would explain his latest round of weird behaviour. At first Scully had attributed it to the whack on the head. But if he'd been getting ready for a romantic weekend, that would justify last week's nervousness, the lack of focus, the silly grin that would pop up at the most inappropriate moments.

Skinner had been remarkably tolerant, she thought.

*******

They met with the AD that afternoon to discuss a new case involving a series of strange disappearances in Dearborn, Michigan.

Mulder had both dreaded and craved the meeting. All he'd wanted to do the entire day was see Walter, but not like this. Not in a situation where he could only look, but not touch or taste.

But looking was better than nothing.

He let Scully enter Skinner's office first so his other senses could gorge themselves for a few seconds without his partner noticing. Even as he was opening the door, he could smell the subtle richness of Walter's aftershave, and inhaled deeply. Then he saw him--sitting behind his desk, wearing an immaculate white shirt that emphasized those incredible shoulders and pecs, holding a pen in an impossibly large hand--and his mind went for a little cruise.

Skinner looked up from his work to acknowledge his agents' arrival. Scully returned the greeting and took her usual seat.

But Mulder stood rooted to the floor, letting Skinner's liquid baritone wash over him, soothe him, paralyse him. He watched, utterly absorbed, as Walter's lips parted, revealing perfect white teeth and that skilful pink tongue. Mulder understood that he was being spoken to, but everything sounded distant and muffled, as though he were under water. Of course, the fact that he'd been holding his breath all this time wasn't helping matters.

"Agent Mulder!" Skinner finally barked. "Would you care to join us?"

"Uh, yes, Sir. Sorry, Sir." The words whooshed out. No longer bug-eyed and on the verge of turning blue, Mulder nearly sat down in Scully's lap before managing to find an empty chair.

Scully knew that Skinner didn't have the time or the patience for this kind of shit, so she diverted his attention away from her spaced-out partner and began discussing the case.

Mulder tried to concentrate and participate, but his thoughts kept drifting.

Was Skinner pissed off? The man was practically ignoring him--not that he blamed him, really.

Would the AD punish him by not coming over tonight after all? Mulder sincerely hoped not; he needed a Skinner fix in the worst way.

Was Walter even the slightest bit distracted by his presence? Aroused? Mulder was definitely getting hot and bothered just by being in the same room with him. He was terrified that he'd have a major erection right here in Skinner's office. How on earth would he explain that one to Scully?

Mulder knew he had to control himself, contribute *something* to the conversation. He finally emerged from the deep end when Skinner told them they'd be flying to Detroit.

"A special task force is convening tomorrow at 11:00 a.m.," Skinner was saying.

Mulder's heart sank.

//Fuck! No! Not tonight!//

The AD continued. "Since Detroit's not that far away, you've been booked onto an early-morning shuttle." For the first time since Mulder stumbled into his office, Skinner looked at him dead in the eye. "Do you have any problems with that, Agent Mulder?"

Withering under his boss' intense gaze, the agent gulped down his relief. "No, Sir. No problems."

"Good. That'll be all."

Scully stood, smoothing her skirt. "Thank you, Sir. I'll keep you posted."

Mortified by his own demeanor, Mulder began following her out of the office.

"Agent Mulder?" It was Skinner. "A moment of your time?"

Scully shot her partner a "boy-are-you-in-big-trouble-now" look, gave his arm a quick, sympathetic squeeze, and shut the door behind her.

Mulder closed his eyes and turned around slowly, expecting to find his boss sitting behind his desk, arms crossed, scowling at him from behind unfathomable lenses.

Instead, Walter was striding toward him, his face flushed with affectionate exasperation. Gripping Mulder's shoulders, he drew the younger man in tightly.

Mulder could feel Skinner's erection through his crisp, wool slacks, and shuddered involuntarily.

"How's that head wound, Agent Mulder?" Gingerly, Skinner ran a splayed hand up the side of his lover's neck and face and into his hair. His fingers stopped above the fresh scar to caress the smooth skin.

"Uh, much better thank you, Sir." His cock, already responding to Skinner's touch, positively twitched when his boss kissed him ever so slowly, gently, and soundlessly on the forehead. He placed his hands on Skinner's waist, relishing and fearing the electric connection between them.

Skinner cupped Mulder's face in his hands and regarded him seriously. "I don't think you got enough sleep this weekend." His voice was tinged with guilt.

Mulder was lost--utterly lost--in the depth of Skinner's dark, soulful eyes. "I'm fine, Sir. Really." He removed Skinner's right hand from his face and brought it to his mouth, tenderly kissing the palm.

Skinner had to fight an overwhelming urge to lock the door and take Mulder right there, spies and their bugs be damned! But he just sighed and embraced him, nuzzling his long, graceful neck. "See you tonight," he whispered into his ear before giving it a lascivious lick.

"I suggest you stay away from the pool this evening," Skinner said in his best AD voice as he reluctantly released Mulder. "Go home and get some rest."

"Yes, Sir." Mulder looked back at him through heavy-lidded eyes, his breathing shallow, that irresistible mouth slightly open.

Skinner then astounded himself--and Mulder--by grabbing him again and giving him a slow, sensuous kiss that left them both a bit light-headed.

The AD feathered his thumb across Mulder's moist lips and stepped back. "That'll be all, Agent Mulder..." Then he mouthed the words, "...for now."

Mulder had never experienced such exquisite torture. Glancing down at his own crotch, he buttoned his suit jacket and tugged at the fabric. Finally, he clasped his hands in front of him in an effort to conceal his burgeoning erection.

"Yes, Sir." He watched with envy as Walter eased himself into his chair, hiding the evidence of his arousal behind the large desk.

Hands in position, Mulder made a hasty exit, trying not to run to the relative safety of the stairwell.

*******

Fox Mulder's Apartment  
Alexandria, Virginia  
Monday, 6:05 pm

Skinner had barely begun to knock when the door to Mulder's apartment flew open. He stepped in, shut the door behind him, and pulled the younger man into his arms. It was such a relief to be kissing that hot, demanding mouth again. As Skinner's hands roamed from his lover's hair down his back to his thighs, he realized that Mulder was wearing the T-shirt and sweatpants he'd given him--and nothing else.

Moaning, Skinner slipped his large hands down the back of the baggy pants, capturing both ass cheeks and causing Mulder to gasp. As he massaged the muscular buttocks, he drew Mulder's lower body in closer until their cocks were rubbing against each other. Skinner then lowered one hand to fondle Mulder's balls from behind while teasing the crack of his ass with the other hand.

His head swimming, Mulder spread his legs. God, how he loved the way Skinner touched him! He knew he should be reciprocating--he *wanted* to--but all he could do with his hands was cling to the man who was holding him. The fact that his immediate superior was here in his apartment, doing these wonderful things to his body, was pushing all rational thought overboard.

Despite being aroused to the point of misery, what Skinner desired most right now was to satisfy his young lover. Taking Mulder firmly by the shoulders, he waltzed them around so that Mulder's back was to the door. Finally breaking mouth-to-mouth contact, Skinner pulled off the T-shirt.

"Hi, Walter!" Mulder panted. "Come on in! Dinner's in the oven. Do you want it now or should we wait?"

Skinner just growled, pushed Mulder against the door, and resumed feasting upon his lips.

Somewhat more lucid now, Mulder tried to remove Skinner's jacket, but the other man wasn't co-operating. He was too busy exploring Fox's chest, running his fingers through the sparse hair and teasing his nipples into hard little pebbles. Mulder gave up wrestling with the jacket when Skinner started planting wet kisses on his jawline, throat and collarbone. When Walter dipped down so he could suckle Mulder's nipples, the agent threw his head back and groaned. He cried out again when Skinner pushed his sweatpants down and took the velvety erection in his hands.

As Skinner stroked and squeezed Mulder's cock and balls, Fox writhed and moaned. But Walter didn't want him to come in his hands. He dropped to his knees, pulled the sweatpants all the way down, and helped a shaky Mulder step out of them. With his hands on Fox's ass, he kissed his belly, hips and upper thighs before taking the impatient cock into his mouth. He slid his right hand up along the inside of Mulder's thigh until he reached the heavy sac, then kneaded each ball between thumb and fingers.

"No, Walter! Stop! Please!"

Skinner pulled back and looked up. "What's the matter? What's wrong?"

"Nuh-nothing." He clutched at Skinner's lapels. "It's just that I want--no, I *need*--to feel you, naked and hard, against me."

Smiling gently, Skinner got to his feet. With Mulder's help, he was nude in record time.

"Is that better, baby?" he cooed, his unencumbered cock spearing Mulder's stomach.

"Oh, yes!" Mulder put his hand on the back of Skinner's neck and brought their mouths together.

Skinner leaned into Mulder so hard he thought the door might give way and send them both tumbling into the hall. But Fox wanted full body contact, and that's what he was going to get.

When Skinner felt pre-cum--whose it was, he didn't know--on his belly, he pulled away and stared directly into Mulder's glassy eyes. "I'd like to finish what I started earlier. Okay?" His voice was pure sandpaper.

Mulder nodded weakly. Skinner sank to the floor again and stroked the fully-erect cock while he mouthed Fox's balls. When they started to tighten, Skinner drew the hard-on deep into his throat. He reckoned he must have been born to do this, because it felt like the most natural thing in the world. And he loved it.

//I love *him*.//

His hold on reality slipping, Mulder moved his tremulous hands from Skinner's smooth scalp down to his face, frantically stroking the strong jaw as it worked his cock. When Skinner took his balls in hand and started milking them in rhythm with his busy mouth, Mulder tilted his head back and began twisting it from side to side, muttering incoherently. As he erupted into orgasm, there was no door at his back, no floor beneath his feet, no air to breathe--there was nothing but the hot, wet mouth sucking him into the vortex.

"Oh God, Walter! Fuck! Jesus, Walter...!"

Ever since Fox Mulder had moved into this building, the neighbours had heard many strange sounds emanating from his apartment--everything from gunshots to furniture breaking--but they'd never heard anything quite like this. Mulder's cries finally turned to whimpers as Skinner swallowed everything he had to give, which, he observed, was considerably more this time around.

Realizing that Mulder was about to keel over, Skinner shimmied up his depleted body until he was standing. "Lean on me, Fox."

Mulder lurched forward against the solid chest, grateful for the offer. Skinner propped him up with one arm, which left a hand free to rub his heaving back.

"Is this going to happen every time I let you in here?" Mulder asked between ragged breaths.

"You weren't wearing any underwear. The way I figure it, you asked for it."

Mulder chuckled. "I guess I did. By the way, you're getting *awfully* good at that, Walter."

"Thank you." He thought so too. He placed his hand over Mulder's over-stimulated heart. "Come on. I think you should sit down."

With a supporting arm around Mulder's waist, Skinner got them over to the sofa. The worn leather was cool against their bare skin, so he pulled the blanket up over them.

"I'm really sorry about today, Walter." Mulder was afraid to meet Skinner's eyes, preferring to stay snuggled up against him. "I didn't expect to have such a strong reaction, but seeing you for the first time since we--uh, I mean, at work like that kind of freaked me out. I kept picturing you naked."

Skinner chortled, the deep voice rolling like gentle thunder in Mulder's ear. "You weren't the only one who was guilty." He burrowed his nose into Fox's hair, washing his face in the silky strands. "I shouldn't have asked you to stay back the way I did, but having to deal with you as my *agent* instead of my *lover* hit me pretty hard, too."

Mulder sat up and faced him. "What?!? The whole time that Scully was there, you acted like nothing had happened between us. I was beginning to think that someone had drugged my water again, and that I'd hallucinated the whole weekend with you."

"You forget that I'm something of an expert when it comes to hiding the way I feel, especially about you. It may have *seemed* like I was acting normal, but I had a hard-on that nearly lifted my desk off the floor."

Mulder lifted his eyebrows and dropped a hand into Skinner's lap. "Was it anything like *this* one?"

"Oh, yeah..."

Mulder threw off the blanket and straddled his lover. He held his head between his hands and took his time kissing his face before taking possession of his mouth. From there Mulder's lips blazed a lazy trail down Skinner's throat to his chest, where he lingered over each nipple until Walter pleaded for mercy.

While one hand stroked Skinner's hard cock, Mulder reached over with the other and dragged the coffee table closer to the sofa. He then slipped off the couch and kneeled between the two pieces of furniture. He seized Skinner's ankles and pulled him forward until his butt was just hanging off the end of the sofa.

"Spread your legs and put your feet on the table," he instructed. 

Skinner did as he was told, then tipped his head back and closed his eyes. He completely surrendered himself to Mulder's hands, lips and tongue, which seemed to be everywhere at once. He slid down a little more and moved his feet even wider apart so that Mulder could *really* go to town.

When Skinner came--loudly--Mulder thought he'd have to wipe semen from the corners of his eyes; Skinner ejaculated with such force and volume that it filled not only his mouth but his nose as well. It startled him at first, but he adjusted quickly.

When Skinner finally finished coming, Mulder joined him on the sofa, covering them with the blanket again.

"Good God!" Skinner felt like a rag doll. "That mouth of yours..." Blinking, he reached out to touch Mulder's face. "Fox? What's that?" He indicated the creamy white fluid oozing from his right nostril. "Oh, shit! Is that--? Jesus Christ!"

Mulder plucked a tissue from the box on the end table and blew his nose. "It's okay, Walter. I'm fine. You can't help it if you come like a volcano. Now I know what to expect the next time we haven't made love for 24 hours."

"For someone who was straight three days ago, you sure know how to go down on a guy."

"Weird, isn't it? But I never was a proficient lover--with women, I mean--so maybe I just *thought* I was straight."

Skinner tightened his embrace. "Do you have any regrets about what we're doing?"

"None." There was no hesitation. "You?"

"Nope. Well, one ..."

"Oh?"

//I *knew* it! Shit!//

"I should have asked you if you wanted to stay over last night...at least given you the choice. I regret being so--damned cautious."

"Forget about it, Walter," Mulder said, relieved. "It's not like I brought a suit and tie with me."

"We could have gotten up early enough for you to go home and change."

"Never thought of that."

"And speaking of which," Skinner said, running his fingers up and down Mulder's arm, "I have this idea..."

Mulder was intrigued. "Yeah? What?"

"I'm not trying to be pushy or clingy or anything. But, if you want, you could come home with me after the game and stay over. I know my place is farther from the airport than yours, but--" He grimaced almost imperceptibly as he gave the room a quick once-over. "--I think my apartment would be a little more comfortable to actually sleep in..."

Mulder regarded his lover with wonder.

//Christ, I'm one lucky bastard! Go figure!//

"We can go right after dinner, if you like," said Mulder.

"I have a TV in my bedroom, but I have the feeling we'd miss most of the game."

"Who cares? We can play our *own* game."

*******

Walter Skinner's Apartment  
Crystal City, Virginia  
Tuesday, 6:00 am

Morning came all too soon.

They'd gone to bed early, but didn't get as much sleep as they should have. Mulder had to catch the eight o'clock shuttle to Detroit, and Skinner hated to wake him. Hated to have to let him go. Despite a day's growth of beard, Fox looked like an angel sleeping. Skinner would have been perfectly content just to watch the mercurial man-child lie there all day.

But they both had jobs to do. So the AD gently ruffled his lover's hair and kissed his sex-and-sleep-swollen lips. Mulder's heavy eyes fluttered open.

"'Morning, Walter."

"'Morning, babe. Happy birthday."

That woke Mulder like a bucket of ice water. "How did you know?"

Skinner grinned guiltily. "As Assistant Director, I *do* have access to personnel files, you know."

"That's an abuse of power, Sir."

"I wish I had the power to give you the day off. I'm sorry you have to work on your birthday."

Mulder put his head on Skinner's shoulder. "I've *always* worked on my birthday. It's just another day. Doesn't mean anything to me, except the fact that I'm getting old..."

"Fox, you're only 37! I'm 46. If you're old, what the hell does that make me?"

"My sophisticated, handsome, sexy

//boyfriend//

lover with the body and stamina of a 25-year-old?"

Skinner chuckled. "I guess I can live with that. But we're going to celebrate your birthday *properly* when you get back from Michigan."

"That won't be necessary."

Mulder tried to roll away, but Skinner pulled him back and pinned him to the mattress. "I don't give a damn whether it's *necessary* or not. We're going to have a little party, just you and me, and you're going to enjoy it. Have I made myself clear, Agent Mulder?"

"Holy shit, Walter! Are you ever bossy!" Mulder reached down between Skinner's legs. "And horny, apparently."

"Don't you have a plane to catch in two hours?"

"Yeah, but it's *my* birthday, and *you're* my present. Let's take a shower so I can play with you."

*******

En route to Dulles Airport

Mulder wasn't used to feeling this relaxed first thing in the morning. He wasn't used to feeling this good, period.

Saying good-bye to Walter hadn't been easy. Would it ever be? 

It was going to be a long, lonely week without him.

But during his drive to the airport, Mulder realized he had to push all thoughts of his relationship with Walter Skinner out of his head for the next few days. They had no place on the job. A lapse in concentration could cost Scully her life. Or him his. And his performance on the case would reflect on his boss. He didn't want to do anything to cause Walter further embarrassment. More than anything, he wanted Skinner to

//love//

be proud of him. He wouldn't let himself fuck this one up.

His *personal* time, however, was another matter. When he crawled into his empty hotel room bed alone tonight, wearing one of Walter's T-shirts (they'd exchanged them this morning), he'd recall every kiss, every caress, every kind word, every second they'd shared...

Mulder still couldn't believe he let Skinner call him "Fox." And "babe" and "baby." Those lovey-dovey nicknames usually made his gorge rise. But *everything* was different with Walter.

//He could call me "shithead" and I probably wouldn't mind.//

*******

Airport Ramada Inn  
Romulus, Michigan  
Tuesday, 9:20 pm

Scully had surprised Mulder by insisting they go to a decent restaurant for dinner, where she presented him with a birthday present: a copy of the new Lost in Space video. As far as Mulder was concerned, it had been one hell of a good birthday.

Now they were back at the hotel, in his room, discussing the case. Their meeting with the local police and members of the Bureau's Detroit office had been one of Mulder's finest. They'd have things wrapped up in no time. Considering his behaviour of late, Scully was amazed that he was so focused and self-assured today. If there was one thing about Fox Mulder that was consistent, it was his inconsistency.

Scully was just putting away her notes when the phone rang. She raised her eyebrows as he answered it.

"Mulder."

It was Skinner.

"Hi!" said the agent, a smile brightening his face like Scully had never seen. Then he remembered that she was in the room, gaping at him. "Uh, just a sec. My partner's here."

He placed a hand over the receiver. "Scully, would you mind...?"

What could she say? "No, of course not. We'll talk later." She got up and gathered her things. "Good night, Mulder. Sweet dreams."

After she left, he sidled over to the door and looked out the security peephole to make sure she wasn't eavesdropping. He knew that Scully was dying of curiosity. But the coast was clear. He dragged the phone as far from the wall that connected their rooms as possible.

"Sorry about that," he told Skinner.

"I'm the one who should be apologizing, for my lousy timing. I guess Scully knows you're seeing someone."

"I'm not very good at trying to hide things from her."

"Do you think she suspects that I'm your mystery lover?"

"Uh-uh. She would have said something. I know she's going to grill me tomorrow, though."

They talked about possible cover stories to throw Scully off the trail before discussing the case. But that wasn't why Skinner was calling. He'd been thinking about Fox all day and missed him terribly.

"When do you think you'll be able to come home?"

"By Friday for sure."

"Do you have any plans this weekend?"

"This is *me* you're talking to, remember?"

"Just thought I'd ask. Because *I* have plans."

Mulder's heart sank. "Oh?"

"Yeah. I'm going to spend most of the weekend with one of my subordinates. Naked. In bed. And I'm going to make love to him 'til he can't see straight. If he gets bored, he can take a swim in the pool in my building--as long as he promises to be careful, that is--or we could go for a run together. And I'll give him a massage, and cook for him, and make love to him some more--"

"Lucky guy, whoever he is."

"No, Fox. *I'm* the one who's lucky. So, what do you say?"

Mulder swallowed. "What do you think? Christ, I wish I were home now! Or that you were here."

"Me too. But you should get some rest. God knows you didn't get much last night."

"Are you kidding? I slept for nearly five hours straight! I haven't done that in years!"

"I wish I could help you sleep better all the time."

"You're doing a fantastic job so far. Since we've been together, I haven't had a single nightmare. None that I can remember, anyway."

Skinner switched from playful to serious. "Fox, just how often *do* you have these nightmares?"

"Just about every night."

"My God! No wonder you're an insomniac! Are you going to be okay tonight?" He tried to turn off the image in his head of Mulder thrashing and twisting in his hotel bed as the black demons in his brain murdered sleep.

"I'll be fine. Don't sound so worried."

"I'd like to talk to you about these nightmares of yours one of these days."

"We'll see." This was starting to make him uncomfortable, so he deftly changed the subject. "Why don't you tell me some more about these wicked weekend plans of yours?"

*******

FBI Headquarters  
Washington, DC  
Friday, 2:15 pm

Mulder felt a little giddy about meeting in Skinner's office again, but used his iron will to conduct himself as though he didn't have carnal knowledge of the big man behind the desk. He delivered his and Scully's findings as dispassionately as possible.

The agents had cracked the Dearborn case, and Scully had to admit that Mulder was mostly responsible. Of the five people who'd vanished within the same week, two--an abused teenage girl and an unfaithful husband--had simply run away without a word to their befuddled families; another had been robbed of his wallet and was still in hospital, unconscious, brought in as a John Doe; and a bank manager had suffered a nervous breakdown and was finally found feeding the squirrels in a local park. The fifth--a woman whose husband had reported her missing--had been murdered by her loving spouse and buried in the backyard following an argument over money.

It had been a string of coincidences--something Mulder generally didn't believe in--but he'd used his early Bureau training to profile the five people and determine what had happened to them. No talk of UFO abductions. No wild theories. No conspiracies. Just that amazing mind of his, and his uncanny ability to get into other people's heads.

Writing up this report was going to be a breeze. And there'd be nothing in it that would cause that cute little vein at the side of Skinner's head to start pulsing wildly.

Considering what Mulder had gone through recently in Texas and Antarctica, this kind of stuff was pretty tame. Almost boring. But he'd helped solve a case without getting himself or Scully kidnapped or injured, without adding to his reputation as an eccentric, and without pissing off the boss.

As the meeting with the AD was coming to an end, Skinner caught Mulder's eye and gave him the briefest hint of a smile while Scully was reading her notes. There was no doubt that Walter was pleased about the way things had turned out.

It was going to be a glorious weekend.

*******

Walter Skinner's Apartment  
Crystal City, Virginia  
Friday, 5:45 pm

Mulder didn't know why he was bothering to knock; surely the pounding of his heart would let Skinner--and most of the 17th floor's other residents--know he was there.

His knuckles had barely left the door when Skinner threw it open and yanked him inside the apartment. He dropped his bags so he could return Skinner's energetic embrace, his lips seeking his lover's desperate mouth. Tuesday morning seemed like so long ago; he couldn't believe he'd survived the last three days without these life-giving kisses.

As two of the FBI's finest purred into each other's mouth, they began to paw at one another--first heads, then shoulders, backs, and buttocks. As if on cue, they both stopped abruptly.

"You're not wearing any underwear!" It was a simultaneous declaration. They burst out laughing.

Skinner was the first to regain his composure. "I guess it's true what they say: great minds think alike."

"Or perverted ones."

Before Skinner had a chance to reply, Mulder grabbed him by the front of his shirt, spun him around, and pushed him up against the door with a satisfying thud. Skinner was a couple of inches taller than Mulder, and outweighed him by nearly 40 pounds, but let himself be manhandled. After all, it *was* Mulder's birthday party, and this was kind of fun...

It took them less than a minute to tear each other's clothes off and fling them out of the way. As they soul-kissed, their hands wandered over highly-responsive bare skin, raising gooseflesh and expectations. Skinner let Mulder grind him into the door and rub his erect cock against his own. When Skinner began to whimper, Mulder slowly, tantalizingly kissed his way down to Walter's groin, eventually taking him in his mouth and bringing him to a potentially-wood-splintering, shoulder-bruising, wake-the-dead climax.

If any of Skinner's fellow tenants had been in the hallway at that time, they would have wondered why their usually quiet neighbour was crying out the name of a small forest creature with such unbridled enthusiasm.

After sucking Skinner dry, Mulder stood up and embraced him.

Skinner ruffled the thick brown hair. "My, oh my. I've thoroughly corrupted you, haven't I?"

"Corrupt me all you want." Mulder trickled his thumbnail along a satiny-smooth cheek before kissing it. "I like it."

With an depraved gleam in his eye, Skinner stepped away from the door and threw Mulder over his shoulder, firefighter-style.

"Hey!"

//Christ, he's strong!//

Skinner carried his squirming, yelping, naked lover into the living room and deposited him onto the sofa, then stretched out on top of him. "So you want to be corrupted, do you?"

"Yeah. Right about now would be good."

"What do you want me to do to you?"

Mulder lowered his eyes demurely. "Uh, you know, Walter..."

"Yeah, I know. But I want you to tell me."

He knew he was turning red. Bright red.

"Come on, Fox. Tell me." Mulder's unexpected bashfulness was turning him on and making him hard again.

//Amazing!//

Forcing himself to meet Skinner's penetrating gaze, Mulder took a deep breath. "I-I want you to..."

Skinner stroked his face. "Say it, baby."

"S-suck me."

"Where?"

"Geez, Walter!"

Skinner rubbed himself along Mulder's straining erection. "Suck what?"

"My cock! I want you to suck my cock!" His face was burning.

"Oh, wow!" Skinner captured Mulder's head in his hands and kissed him. "I'm sorry I've made you so uncomfortable, but hearing you say that just blows me away, if you'll pardon the expression."

Mulder grinned and wiggled his hips beneath Skinner. "Speaking of blowing, are you going to make me wait all night or what?"

Skinner began to nibble on Mulder's earlobe. "Soon, my impatient one." As much as he was dying to take Mulder in his mouth right this second, he didn't want to rush things. They had all night. All weekend, in fact. And he had such plans for the boy...

Mulder groaned as Skinner tongued his way down to his nipples via his throat, pausing at the delectable hollow, then licked his chest to his navel, artfully dodging his cock. Skinner planted gentle kisses along the tops his thighs before zeroing in on his balls, rolling them on his tongue with agonizing slowness.

Mulder, meanwhile, was frantically kneading Skinner's shoulders, oohing and aahing with every stroke of his lover's tongue. "Suck my cock, Walter!" he hissed. "Please! Suck it *now*!"

Instead of taking Mulder into his mouth as ordered, he crawled back up and covered the trembling body with his own.

"Walter!" It was a pathetic squeak.

Smiling, the older man managed to get his arms under the lighter body and flipped them both over so that Mulder was now on top. After kissing the puzzled face, Skinner wriggled down the sofa until his mouth was level with Mulder's cock. He then slid his hands between Fox's legs until he was straddling Skinner's head.

"Okay, babe," he said, his voice low and throaty, "fuck my face."

"What?!?"

"Start slowly, and try not to move from side to side too much. Unfortunately, my teeth aren't retractable."

"Oh, my God, Walter!"

*******

"What the hell were you up to while I was away?"

They were still on the sofa, Skinner lying on his back and Mulder pressed tightly against him. Skinner had jerked himself off as Mulder came in his mouth, and Fox was now massaging Walter's stomach with the result of his second orgasm of the evening.

Skinner stroked Mulder's hair. "Oh, you know, the usual. Yelled at people. Worked out a lot. Thought about you all the time. I wanted to give you a homecoming you wouldn't soon forget, so I fired up the computer, got on line, and did a little research. It's incredible what you can learn about when you surf the 'Net."

"Obviously!" Mulder toyed with Skinner's right nipple. "Does that mean you missed me?"

"A little, I suppose."

"Yeah, well, I guess I missed you some, too." He wrinkled his nose as his stomach growled. "Walter, what's that wonderful aroma I smell?"

"Sex?"

"No, the *other* wonderful aroma. The one that smells like garlic and tomatoes and peppers and mushrooms..."

"Oh, *that*! That's our dinner."

"Take-out from La Trattoria?"

"No, homemade by yours truly."

Mulder sat up, suddenly ravenous--for food. "Really? What is it?"

Skinner's stomach was rumbling, too. "Just lasagna. I didn't make the pasta, but the sauce is from scratch. I hope you like it."

"I'm sure I will," he said, rubbing his arms.

Skinner got off the sofa and retrieved two knee-length bathrobes from an armchair. He held one up and helped Mulder get into it before wrapping himself up in the other.

"Thanks, Walter. You certainly think of everything."

He shrugged slightly. "I try. Let's go wash up. Dinner's almost ready."

As they headed toward the bathroom, Mulder noticed the dining room table for the first time. It was like something out of a four-star restaurant: china, silverware, crystal, linen napkins, candles--the works. At one of the two place settings sat a colourful gift bag, with white tissue spilling out the top.

Mulder stopped and stared. "What's all this?"

"Your birthday party."

His vision blurred.

//Shit! Don't I have any testosterone left at all?//

Determined not to start blubbering, Mulder blinked back the stinging tears and cleared his throat. "It's beautiful, Walter. You shouldn't have gone to so much trouble..."

Skinner stood behind his lover and wrapped his arms around him. "It was no trouble at all. Do you want to open your gift now or after we eat?"

The agent fought to keep his voice steady. "You didn't have to get me anything. Inviting me to spend the weekend with you is more than

//I deserve//

enough..."

Skinner leaned over and kissed Mulder's cheek, then rested his chin on his shoulder. "I'd forgotten how much fun it is to buy a gift for someone I--" He caught himself. "--really care about. Why don't you open it now?"

Mulder walked over to the table and reached into the bag, fighting to control the tremor in his hand. "Oh, wow!" he said as he peeled away tissue paper. "The new Lost in Space video! I loved that show when I was a kid. Thanks, Walter!"

He didn't have the heart to tell him that he already had it. Maybe he could exchange the copy Scully had given him...

"You're welcome." Skinner inclined his head at the bag.

"There's more?"

Skinner nodded.

Mulder pulled out an extra large bag of sunflower seeds,

//God, how he knows me!//

followed by a simple chrome ring holding two keys. He gave Skinner a puzzled glance.

"The large one is for the building," he explained. "The smaller one is for my apartment. If you're going to be spending time here, you might as well have your own keys. And I'll show you how to set and disarm the security system."

Clutching the ring, Mulder looked at Skinner with saucer eyes. "Walter--"

"There's one more thing."

Mulder was completely overwhelmed.

//One more thing? What *more* could he give me?//

He felt around until he found the last item: a white envelope with "Fox" written across the front in Walter's distinctive hand.

//A birthday card.//

Still holding the key ring like some kind of talisman, he tore open the envelope. The front of the card featured an illustration of sailboats on a clear, blue sea. That brought a smile to Mulder's lips.

Then he opened the card. "Oh, man!" He held up the contents: two tickets to the Redskins' next home game. And they were great seats. "Walter, this is too much..."

"You can take whoever you want, of course, but just keep in mind how much your boss enjoys football--even if the home team sucks this year."

Mulder shook his head in wonder. "Of course I'm taking you." He was about to go over and thank Skinner in his own special way when he realized that he hadn't read the card's message. And that wouldn't be polite.

"Dear Fox," it said. "I hope you'll always remember your first birthday we celebrated together as a special time. You're very special to me. Yours, Walter."

Skinner held his breath as Mulder read the card--several times over, evidently. The AD never considered himself much of a poet, so he opted for something simple and straightforward. From the heart. But choosing the right salutation had nearly given him an ulcer. "All my love" or even just "Love" was too honest at this point. "Forever" and "Always" were almost as scary. And only "Walter" would have been too cold. "Yours, Walter" had seemed the safest bet at the time...

Mulder just stood there, eyes glued to the inside of the card, head down.

"Fox? Are you okay?" When he didn't answer, Skinner approached him, placed one hand on his shoulder, and gently lifted his chin. Skinner felt his chest constrict as he saw the tears streaming down Mulder's face. When he gathered his young lover into his arms, Mulder began to sob like a child against his shoulder.

//Shit! What've I done?//

Now Skinner was afraid he was going to lose it himself. "Baby," he soothed, rubbing Mulder's back, stroking his hair, "I didn't mean to upset you..."

Mulder didn't want to ruin the romantic evening that Skinner had so thoughtfully planned. He choked back his tears, squared his shoulders, and wiped the back of his sleeve across his eyes. Skinner noticed that he was still holding the key ring in one hand and the card in the other.

"Walter," he began, his voice shaky but under control, "you didn't upset me." He sniffed. "This is the best birthday I've ever had. I'm just not used to all the attention and fuss. My mother's been conveniently forgetting or simply ignoring my birthday since Samantha disappeared. My dad *never* remembered. You and I have been together for less than a week, and look at everything you've done: made me dinner, bought me really great presents, gave me the keys to your place, and this card..." Just looking at it nearly brought on a fresh flood of tears.

Skinner held Mulder's wet face between his palms and covered it with kisses. "You're going to have to get used to the fact that there's someone in your life now who wants to do these kind of things for you."

His lips brushed Mulder's, first tentatively, then with more zeal.

Mulder placed his arms around Skinner's neck and returned the kiss. "Can we eat now?"

*******

Mulder ate with more appetite than he usually did. The lasagna tasted as good as it smelled.

Skinner insisted that Mulder finish his wine while he cleared the table and brought out the dessert: a small white birthday cake. "HAPPY BIRTHDAY" was spelled out in green frosting above a little plastic brown fox standing between two green candles.

"I won't sing to you, Fox, because I wouldn't want your ears to bleed. Just make a wish and blow out the candles."

Mulder gaped. "Don't tell me you made this too..."

"I don't have the patience or the manual dexterity to decorate cakes, I'm afraid. But I *did* add the fox."

"Where on earth did you find it?"

"Toys 'R Us--finally. Actually, I had to buy a whole forest animals set, but it was worth it. So if you ever need a plastic bear or racoon or chipmunk for some bizarre reason, you know who to come to."

Mulder laughed and kissed him on the cheek. "You're a strange and wonderful man, Walter." 

"Takes one to know one. Now, hurry up and blow out these candles before they melt all over the cake."

Like an earnest three-year-old, Mulder closed his eyes, inhaled deeply, pursed his pouty lips,

//please don't ever leave me, Walter!//

and blew.

While they talked over cake and coffee, Skinner gave himself a mental pat on the back. So far, except for making Fox cry, this night had gone quite well. He cursed all the people in Mulder's life who'd contributed to shaping one of the worst inferiority complexes he'd ever witnessed. He reached over and took his lover's hand in his, interlacing their fingers.

"More cake? You could stand to put on a few pounds, you know."

Mulder groaned theatrically and patted his stomach. "I'm really full, Walter. I eat like a pig when we're together. I'll definitely have to go for a long run tomorrow." He squeezed Skinner's paw. "That was one hell of a meal. Thank you. Let's put this stuff away and go to bed."

"I'll clean up tomorrow," Skinner told him. "As for going to bed, there's something I thought we could do first..."

Mulder tilted his head slightly, inviting an answer. The candlelight brought out brilliant gold flecks in his hazel eyes and burnt copper highlights in his dark hair. To Skinner, he was never more desirable.

Before sitting down to eat, Skinner had turned on the stereo and put his CD player on random play mode. He'd spent hours deciding which five discs in his collection had the best love songs.

"Chances Are" by Johnny Mathis had just ended, and Linda Rondstadt's version of "Someone To Watch Over Me" now filled the room.

"I love this song," Skinner said without a trace of the apprehension he was suddenly feeling. He removed his glasses, stood up and extended his left hand. "Dance with me, Fox. Please."

Mulder started to laugh, but the expression on Skinner's face stifled it. "You serious?"

"Very."

Slowly, Mulder got to his feet and accepted the hand offered by Skinner, who gently pulled him into the circle of his arms.

"I'll lead."

"Naturally."

Skinner wondered if this was a sarcastic barb until Mulder put his head on his shoulder and sighed contentedly. Holding Fox's right hand, he curled it toward him, brushed his lips across the knuckles, and pressed it against his chest. Mulder now heard and felt Skinner's heart beating in a slow, steady, comforting rhythm.

And so, barefoot and wearing only bathrobes, they danced in Walter Skinner's candlelit living room. They both were semi-hard but, this time, neither one had the uncontrollable urge to wrestle the other to the carpet and ravish him.

"Walter?"

"Hmmm?"

"Have you always been like this with--uh, other people?"

"I think I've always had a romantic streak in me, but I never felt comfortable about expressing myself quite like this before."

Mulder lifted his head so he could look at his partner.

"I wanted to be close to you for so long, Fox, and now that you're here, I--I guess I want to make things so good that you'll never want to leave."

Mulder was starting to feel dangerously emotional. He untangled his hand from Skinner's and put his arms around his sturdy neck. "I'm not going anywhere," he whispered, struggling to subdue the slight waver in his voice.

"Good." Skinner slid his hands down to the small of Mulder's back and kissed those compelling lips, so warm and soft. Mulder pressed back, opening his mouth so that Skinner's tongue could plunder it. They shared several deep, wine-induced kisses before Mulder placed his head back on Skinner's shoulder.

"I read this article--I think it was in Psychology Today--about a study of kissing habits. It said that the couples who do it and enjoy it the most are lesbians, followed by gay men, then straight couples."

"So what you're saying is--"

"--we're lesbians."

They eyed each other and Mulder started to giggle. Skinner was sure the wine had something to do with it, because he found himself joining in. The idea of AD Walter Skinner giggling struck Mulder as particularly funny, and made him laugh harder. When he started to snort, Skinner cracked up entirely. They hooted and howled, leaning against each other as they were swept away by sheer silliness. Finally, they staggered over to the sofa and flopped down, side by side, holding their aching sides.

"I-I'm sorry, Walter," Mulder sniggered, wiping away tears of mirth as Nat King Cole crooned Unforgettable in the background. "I didn't mean to spoil the mood."

His own face equally wet, Skinner shook his head and chortled. "You didn't spoil anything. I haven't laughed that much in ages. God, it feels good!" He took a deep, calming breath and shuffled closer to Mulder. "I love seeing you like this. You're even more beautiful when you're happy..."

He framed Mulder's face with his hands and kissed him with tender passion.

"Want to go upstairs, babe?"

"Please."

Skinner released him and shot up. "Just sit here for a minute. There's something I have to do first." He dashed off to the kitchen.

"What about the cake?" Mulder called after him.

"I'll put it away later. Don't worry about it."

He heard Skinner open the fridge and freezer. Then he was striding through the living room, carrying a white plastic bag and what looked like a wine bottle. But he was moving so fast, Mulder couldn't be sure. Skinner winked at him before going up the stairs. He took them two at a time, the bathrobe billowing behind him, showing off a pair of perfectly sculpted legs.

"What are you up to, Walter?"

"You'll see."

Unable to sit still, Mulder got up and took the cake into the kitchen. He was putting it back into its box when he felt like he was being watched. He whirled around to find Skinner leaning against the doorframe seductively. The way Walter was looking at him made him weak in the knees.

"Come on, birthday boy. I've got something else for you..."

On the way to the staircase, Skinner blew out the dinner candles,

//What did *you* wish for, Walter?//

plunging the room into greyness. But a warm glow came from above, making it easy for them to find their way upstairs.

When they reached the second floor, Mulder was steered into the bathroom, which was filled with burning candles. Skinner stepped up behind him, reached around, and undid the robe, letting it slip off his lover's naked body and pool around his feet.

Mulder was expecting a bubble bath, but the tub was empty. Instead, Skinner turned on the shower. After several luxurious minutes of kissing and lathering under the steamy water, he looked deep into Mulder's eyes.

"Okay, Fox. I want you to turn around, put your hands against the tiles, bend over at the waist, and spread your legs."

Up went the eyebrows. "Let me guess--this is something else you picked up from the 'Oscar Wilde Society' web site."

Skinner chuckled. "Yeah, something like that."

Because more than his curiosity was aroused, Mulder complied.

Skinner stood beside Mulder, his stiffening cock pressed against his lover's hip, his left arm under Fox's chest for support.

"You know, Walter, I'd like to get on that computer of yours tomorrow and--oh, my God!" He shuddered with excitement as Skinner ran a soapy finger down the crack of his ass, from tailbone to scrotum, and back up again. He did this several times, and noticed that Mulder inhaled sharply whenever the finger came into contact with his anus.

"You like this, don't you baby?"

Mulder turned his head away from Skinner so he couldn't see his shame-darkened face, but he didn't want to lie to him. "Yes," he groaned.

Skinner guessed what Mulder was feeling. "That's all right, Fox. I'm glad you like it. I like touching you there." He went back to the puckered opening and began stroking it.

Giving in to his raging libido, Mulder spread his legs wider as Skinner continued to tease the tight ring of muscle.

From the low, guttural sounds Fox was making, Walter knew he'd soon want relief, and wasn't surprised that Mulder complained when the finger was removed.

Skinner grabbed the portable shower head and removed it from its wall mount, then used it to rinse the soap from the cleft between Mulder's ass cheeks.

"Is that thing a shower massage, Walter?" he asked in an unfamiliar, husky voice.

"Uh-huh."

"I wouldn't mind if you turned it up a bit."

"Okay, but not too much. It's not time for you to come yet."

He adjusted the shower head until it started to pulse steadily, but not too strongly, against Mulder's anus. As promised, he stopped when his anxious lover started really getting into it.

Still supporting Mulder's chest with his arm, Skinner reached to turn off the water. But Mulder grabbed his wrist.

"Walter, switch places with me. I'd like to touch you like that. I *know* you'll love it..."

He did.

*******

Like the bathroom, the bedroom was also filled with candlelight. On one of the night tables was a bottle of champagne and two glasses protruding from a silver ice bucket.

As Mulder surveyed the room, Skinner scooped him up in his muscular arms and carried him over to the king-sized bed.

"Jesus, Tarzan! I feel like"

//a new bride//

Jane!"

Skinner put his hand between Mulder's legs and stroked him. "Well, Jane, you feel like another Tarzan to me!"

Mulder tried to pull Skinner onto the bed with him, but the bigger man slipped away effortlessly. "First things first. Champagne, Fox?"

"Are you trying to get me drunk, Sir? Are you planning to do something to me that requires my complete and utter inebriation?"

Skinner brought the champagne flutes over to the bed and sat down beside Mulder, frowning. "I hope you know that I'd never, *ever* do anything to hurt you, physically or otherwise. If there's something you don't like, or that makes you feel uncomfortable in any way, tell me and I'll stop immediately."

Mulder sat up and took one of the flutes. "I know that, Walter. I trust you."

Skinner's breath caught in his throat. For Fox Mulder, saying, "I trust you" was almost as good as saying, "I love you." Maybe better.

He touched his glass to Mulder's. "To you, Fox. Happy birthday."

"Thank you, Walter. I-I don't know what to say..."

"Don't say anything. Just drink up."

They drained their glasses, and Skinner set them aside. He wanted Fox to be relaxed--not drunk--for this lovemaking session.

"Okay, Fox," Skinner told him after some heavy petting, "I'd like you to kneel in the middle of the bed, and lean over onto your arms." When Mulder just looked at him wide-eyed, he said, "Trust me."

"I do." He assumed the position.

"Now open your knees, babe. That's it. Nice and wide."

"Uh, Walter? Can we maybe blow out some of these candles? It seems awfully bright in here for me to have my hairy butt sticking up in the air like this..."

Skinner ran his knuckles down Mulder's spine. "Your butt is

//so fuckable!//

gorgeous. I love looking at your body. All of it." He placed himself between Mulder's widespread feet and stared at what was being presented to him. In his mind, he could see himself mounting Mulder and fucking him blind.

The thought both terrified him and turned him on. If they were to experiment with anal sex, it would have to be a mutual decision, and they'd both have to exercise caution. It wasn't something they could just rush into. He promised Fox he'd never hurt him, and he meant it.

"Walter? Are you still with me?"

Skinner snapped back to reality. "Sorry, babe. Sometimes I have a hard time believing that you're really here, with me..." Holding onto Mulder's slim hips, he kissed the skin at the base of his spine, then flicked at it with his tongue, eliciting the response he was hoping for. He kept licking, snake-like, until the tongue disappeared between Mulder's cheeks. He made his way down to his partner's balls, mouthing them, then tongued back up to the little pleasure centre that his finger had explored in the shower. Mulder tasted so good! Musky-sweet and clean, yet not antiseptically so.

"Walter!" Mulder was breathing heavily. "Is that your-your *tongue* in there?"

"Unn-huhn." Skinner extricated himself. "Should I stop?"

"Don't you dare!" He spread his knees even wider apart, wiggling his ass enticingly in the process.

Groaning, Skinner dove back in and began fucking Mulder with his tongue as best he could. There was no way that a tongue was as strong as a finger

//or a thick, hard cock//

but the pressure of it thrusting into his anus was driving Mulder wild. Skinner snaked a hand around to grab the writhing man's hard-on, which was now weeping copiously. He palmed the slippery head until his hand was slick, then began to pump the engorged cock.

Mulder, meanwhile, was awash in a dizzying array of sensations. No one--not even kinky old Phoebe--had ever tongue-fucked him before. God, it felt wonderful! And to have Walter's hand stroking him at the same time was incredible, almost too much to bear all at once. Mulder's cock was a little more sensitive than usual after having it scrape along some of Walter's teeth earlier this evening. But the waves of intense pleasure he was feeling quickly lapped away any pain.

And now Skinner was sucking at the taut hole. Then tongue-thrusting. Then sucking. Then tonguing. Mulder buried his contorted face in the pillow he was clutching in a death grip and screamed as he came, trying to push his ass into Skinner's face and his cock into Walter's hand simultaneously.

He was vaguely aware of being tipped over onto his side and then his back and stretched out before feeling a cool cloth against the hot skin of his face, chest and groin. When he opened his eyes, he saw Skinner hovering over him, looking concerned.

"God, Walter!" His voice was raspy. "I think I blacked out for a minute there."

"You scared the hell out of me! Are you okay now?"

"Never better." He reached up and touched Skinner's cheek. "I could get pretty used to this stuff, you know."

Skinner kissed the shaking fingers. "That's the whole idea."

"Can I have some more champagne? My throat's kind of dry."

After another drink, Mulder wriggled on top of Skinner and started kissing his Adam's apple. "I want to do to you what you did to me, but first I'm going to suck your cock a little to get it nice and hard."

"That sounds very tempting, Fox, but you're tired and--Ow! That hurt!" Mulder had bitten his neck.

"Stop arguing or I'll do it harder next time and leave a great big hickey."

Skinner couldn't deny that he really wanted to be rimmed by this wild Fox. And it certainly seemed like the little animal was having a good time...

When Mulder was finished nibbling on Skinner's cock, he didn't have too much trouble convincing the older man to get up on all fours. Fox was so enthusiastic about what he was doing that Walter came faster than he'd intended. But, unlike his partner, Skinner managed not to nearly asphyxiate himself with the bedding.

*******

"Fox?"

"Hmmm?" He was half asleep.

The bedroom was now bathed in quiet darkness, filled with the mingled scents of sweat, semen and candle wax. Spooned by Skinner, Mulder held onto his burly forearm like an anchor.

"I can't remember if I mentioned this earlier, but I'm really impressed with the way you handled that missing persons case."

"It was nothing."

"It wasn't nothing. I'm so proud of you."

"Thanks. Now go to sleep. G'night, Walter."

Skinner kissed his warm neck. "Good night, my love."

//Oops!//

Mulder didn't flinch.

//Maybe he didn't hear me. I shouldn't drink around him!//

But Mulder *had* heard.

//"My love!"//

Buoyed by the champagne, he wondered if his birthday wish might not come true after all...

The End

 

* * *

 

Resuscitation III: Safe Harbour  
by m. butterfly  
  
Rating: NC-17 for explicit m/m sex, language  
Category: M/Sk  
Spoilers: The End, X-Files: Fight the Future, The Beginning, Avatar, 3  
Archive: Anywhere--just leave my name on it  
Synopsis: A series of events, including losing the X-Files, further erodes Fox Mulder's self-confidence and jeopardizes his promising relationship with Walter Skinner.  
Author's note: The story occurs during Season Six, up to December 25, 1998. As for 6X08 (The Ghosts That Stole Christmas), I figure it either happened a couple of seasons ago, or it didn't happen at all. (Not in *my* story, anyway.) Many thanks to Michael and Andr�anne for beta-reading, and Susan for advice and encouragement. Serious feedback always appreciated (and answered) at . Oh, yeah--lines introduced and ended with a double slash // are internal and not spoken out loud by the characters.  
This one's for you, Sergeeva.  
Disclaimer: The characters Fox Mulder, Walter Skinner, Dana Scully et al. belong to Chris Carter, Ten Thirteen Productions and Fox Broadcasting. This is a work of fiction intended only for private enjoyment. Blah, blah, blah.

* * *

Resuscitation III: Safe Harbour  
by m. butterfly

The nightmares were back.

But what scared the living shit out of Fox Mulder this time was that some of them were spilling over into his waking hours.

Even worse, some new ones had been added to his repertoire. Bad enough that his sleep was tormented by visions of Samantha's abduction and Scully's fight with cancer. Of death and suffering and loss and unfathomable horror. Now he was having heart-stopping dreams about Gibson Praise. And Skinner. Oh, God. Skinner...

Their first month together had been so good. Too good. For the first time in more than thirty years, Mulder had been sleeping the sleep of the innocent--even on those rare occasions when he hadn't spent the night in Skinner's bed, in those strong, sheltering arms. Although the man hadn't come right out and said it, it was clear that he loved Mulder. And if that couldn't help him sleep soundly, what could?

Mulder was still troubled by what the Well-Manicured Man had revealed to him about his sister. And his relationship with his mother was still shaky. But he and Scully had never been closer; since he brought her back from Antarctica, she'd been more supportive than ever. With her help, he'd kicked some serious Consortium butt over the summer, destroying at least part of their colonization efforts. The whole experience had resulted in some particularly graphic nightmares, but even those had faded since he and Skinner had become involved.

Just when Mulder's miserable excuse for a life seemed to be doing a 180, reality had returned to bite him on the ass

//Serves me right for being so damned arrogant!//

in the form of the Office of Professional Review. OPR had taken its sweet fucking time going over Mulder's report on everything that had happened between the Dallas bombing and his trek to Antarctica. But Mulder hadn't been worried about appearing before the review panel. He had evidence this time. And he had Scully to back him up.

Only she hadn't.

Without warning, she'd copped out at the last minute, making him look like a goddamned fool. And causing them to be yanked off the X-Files, which he'd started in the first place. His life's work. And his only way of learning the truth about what had *really* happened to Samantha.

Then there was Skinner.

He'd gone along with OPR's decision to reassign Mulder and Scully, and hand the X-Files over to Diana Fowley and that little bastard Spender. Mulder was royally pissed off at Skinner, accusing him of everything from betrayal to hypocrisy.

But after Mulder had calmed down, he realized that Skinner had had no choice. He could have lied and told Mulder that he alone had voted in favour of him and Scully maintaining the X-Files. But he didn't. He was honest and upfront, and Mulder had grudgingly respected him for it. As Skinner had said, going against the other A.D.s would have raised their suspicions about him, and probably got him transferred to the field office in Juneau, Alaska. And he needed to remain in Washington, not only to continue seeing Mulder, but also to help him in his quest for the truth. Even though he was no longer Mulder's boss, he'd stuck his neck out for him. And been reprimanded for it. Which, of course, made Mulder feel guilty and even less worthy of Skinner's loyalty and affection.

The information that Skinner had so recklessly passed on to Mulder had led the agent to Arizona and an unexpected--but short-lived--reunion with Gibson Praise.

When the young mind reader had been snatched from under their noses the previous spring, Mulder had privately grieved, believing that the Consortium had killed the boy. A wunderkind himself, Mulder had identified with Gibson and was truly interested in him as a human being, not just as genetic proof of mankind's relationship to an alien race.

He never thought he'd see Gibson again, and was stunned when the boy managed to escape his captors and find him and Scully at the Rolling Hills Nuclear Power Plant. No one could imagine like Mulder what the 12-year-old must have gone through, how frightened and lonely he must have been all those months. The butchers had sawed open his skull and fucked around with his brain, but the child had conducted himself with more dignity than most adults Mulder had encountered.

With his shaved head and surgical scars, Gibson reminded Scully of Frankenstein's monster.

But, to Fox Mulder, the sad, soulful face that had peered up at him from behind a pair of wirerims reminded him of a smaller version of Skinner. And when Gibson was abducted again and then presumably killed at the power plant, either by nuclear radiation or the alien lifeform that had slaughtered at least three people, Mulder was devastated. And now his sleep was haunted by images of Gibson Praise, and Skinner was somehow mixed up in all of it.

So where did this leave Special Agent Fox Mulder?

With a partner he couldn't rely on, reporting to an A.D. who was trying to make him quit, working on cases he loathed, and besieged by nightmares that left his heart aching and his throat raw.

He was hurt, angry, bored and dispirited.

And terrified beyond words.

Without the X-Files, how could he ever find out the truth about his past? Interviewing farmers about what they did with their manure just wasn't going to cut it.

And then there was Skinner.

As the shitstorm dumped all over them, Walter Skinner's devotion to Mulder never wavered. He was the one person in his life that Mulder could trust completely, and who trusted him. He put up with Mulder's temper, his rants, and his moodiness like no one else ever had.

The agent was becoming entirely too dependent on him for his happiness, such as it was.

Truth was, Mulder lived for the time he shared with Skinner. When they made love, he was able to forget all about the rest of his shitty life. Skinner was undoubtedly the best thing that had ever happened to him. Or ever would.

Knowing that their affair couldn't last was slowly killing him.

Walter Skinner's Apartment Crystal City, Virginia Thursday, 2:43 am

"No! Oh, God, NO!!!"

Skinner didn't know what woke him: the shouting or the whack to the head. His heart booming, he rolled over, sat half-way up, and seized Mulder's flailing hand.

"Fox! Wake up! Wake up!"

Mulder's eyes popped open and, even in the darkness of his bedroom, Skinner could see the raw terror they held. He placed a restraining arm across the chest of the younger man, who was still thrashing about but now moaning pitifully. With the other hand, Skinner stroked the damp cheeks and sweat-matted hair.

"It's okay, baby. I'm here. It's okay."

Mulder went limp under the gentling hands. "Walter?"

"You awake now?" He relaxed his hold.

"Yeah." Mulder propped himself up against the headboard and wiped at his face. "Shit."

"Are they always like that?"

"Pretty much. I'm really sorry."

"What for?"

"For waking you. For scaring you."

//For having to let you see what a fucked-up loser your boyfriend is.//

"Forget about me. Are *you* okay?" He dabbed at a tiny teardrop lingering at the tip of Mulder's nose.

"I'm fine."

//Like hell I am.//

"Want to talk about it?"

"Nah. Just same old, same old." God, how he hated lying to this man. But telling him the truth just wasn't an option.

Skinner had gleaned a bit about Mulder's nightmares, but experiencing one first hand made him realize how much the younger man had downplayed them.

"Want me to get you a glass of water?"

He shook his head. "Just hold me, Walter. Okay?"

Big, caring hands running the length of his back finally comforted and calmed Mulder back to sleep. But Skinner remained wide awake. He stared at the ceiling, ticking off the reasons why this shit had started up again.

One: Scully's apparent doubt about what her partner had seen in that frozen wasteland.

Two: losing the X-Files, not only to Diana Fowley, but to Jeffrey Spender, someone Mulder neither trusted nor respected.

Three: losing that Praise kid. Again. This time for good, it seemed. Mulder had been nearly inconsolable over that one.

Four: reporting to A.D. Kersh.

Skinner sighed and lightly kissed the top of the feverish head that rested on his shoulder.

On the one hand, he was glad he was no longer Mulder's immediate superior. Their mutual attraction was so powerful that the necessarily frequent meetings between them that involved others had become an enormous strain on them both. Now they were spending more time together outside of work, and that suited Skinner just fine.

But the best thing about being Mulder's ex-boss was not having to send his lover into dangerous situations, not having to make decisions that could cost him his life.

The downside was not being able to protect Mulder the way he used to. It was clear that the last thing that Kersh had in mind was Mulder's safety and well-being. The prick was doing his damnedest to make Mulder resign. But that wouldn't happen until Mulder was good and ready to go. And, because Kersh and his cronies wanted him out, Mulder was more determined than ever to stick around.

"Like herpes," he once joked.

Mulder's reaction to having the X-Files ripped from him had made Skinner aware of just how important they were to the frustrated agent, how much he still needed them to solve the puzzle of his sister's disappearance. Skinner mentally kicked himself for being so naive as to think that *he* would be enough for Mulder. No, if one of them had to leave the Bureau, it would be Walter Skinner.

And, fortunately, the Assistant Director didn't give a rat's ass about his career.

He'd been censured for leaking information about an X-File to Mulder. And the person who'd squealed was one of his own agents, Jeffrey Fucking Spender. That was rich!

His superiors had told him, in effect, that he'd never rise above his current position. And, if he didn't stop playing fast and loose with Bureau rules and regulations, he would soon be looking for work elsewhere.

So Skinner tried to be more discreet, because he knew that as long as he was with the Bureau, he could help Mulder.

And Mulder needed his help. He had no one else. Scully was running hot and cold, Spender wanted to bring him down, and Diana Fowley was an enigma. Mulder thought she was on his side, but Skinner wasn't so sure. At least he and Scully agreed about *something*.

What was it about Fox Mulder that attracted people who liked to jerk him around? For all his brilliance, he was, in many ways, a lost child, desperate for people to accept him, love him, and believe in him. And there were those, like Phoebe Green, who recognized his vulnerability and used it to their own advantage.

But it was Mulder's parents who really mystified and enraged Skinner. What kind of ogres had they been? They'd practically ignored him since the age of 12, and he'd grown up believing he was undeserving of anyone's love. Skinner had wept as Mulder told him that after his sister was taken, he'd had no one to turn to for comfort. As a result, he was starved for affection, yet found it difficult both to give and accept it.

But Skinner *was* making progress. He lavished Mulder with attention, paid him both obvious and subtle compliments, and treated him with utmost kindness, tenderness and patience. He was no saint, but he tried to demonstrate his love for Mulder as much and as often as possible.

And, God, how he loved him! He'd never felt this way about anyone before. Not even Sharon. Not even close. And it had changed him.

Without a second thought, he could be himself around Mulder. Sentimental. Affectionate. Expressive. And he was becoming more like his young lover in some ways. Playful. Silly. Emotional. Hell, until he began seeing Mulder, Skinner hadn't cried in front of another person since he was eight years old.

But the biggest revelation was the sex. For the first time in his life, Walter Skinner truly embraced physical intimacy with another person. Before Mulder, sex had been all about reaching orgasm--*his* orgasm--and little else. He'd been a less-than-considerate lover, and actually preferred masturbating because no partner meant no guilt.

But now, he finally understood what all the fuss about having sex--no, *making love*--was about. He couldn't believe how hot it was with Mulder. How satisfying. And *fun*. Sometimes he laughed out loud when he came--something he'd never done before--just because it felt so damned wonderful.

Most of all, though, Skinner loved making Mulder feel good in bed. To hear him sighing with pleasure at his touch, moaning in ecstasy when he went down on him, shouting "Walter" when he came, filled him with inexpressible joy.

Now, as he lay there with Mulder wrapped around him, he said a silent prayer to whatever gods or spirits might be listening that nothing or no one come between them.

Because Walter Skinner knew he *could* live without Mulder. He just wouldn't want to.

  
One Week Later  
5:08 pm

Mulder entered the shadow-filled apartment, dumped his bags, and flipped on the hall light. Working quickly, he punched in the six-digit code to deactivate Skinner's security system. He'd done it several times now, and it always amazed him, made him chuckle. But when Skinner had given him the initial demonstration, he'd been too stunned to crack so much as a smile.

As the two of them had stood by the keypad for the first time, he'd seen a glimmer of panic touch Skinner's face. Then the Assistant Director had paused, Mulder realized moments later, because he didn't know the numeric sequence--just the code *words.*

"Four-five-eight-three-six-nine," Skinner had sung out a little too cheerfully, stabbing at the smallish buttons with a sizable finger.

"Four-five-eight-three-six-nine," Mulder had repeated as he watched the procedure.

//I-L-V-F-O-X. I love Fox?!? Holy shit! You need some serious help, Walter.//

Mulder had tried not to let Skinner know that he knew, but he suspected that he *did* know. So far, neither man had said "boo" about it.

//Why does everything in my life have to be so fucking convoluted?//

The weary agent hung up his coat and took his bags upstairs to the bedroom. He and Scully had just spent the better part of the week in New York City at a symposium on international terrorism, a joint FBI-United Nations effort. And, in Mulder's eyes, a colossal waste of his time, both as a profiler and an expert on the paranormal. But, as A.D. Kersh had so generously pointed out on numerous occasions, Mulder was no longer either. At this stage of his so-called career with the Bureau, he was a grunt agent who either did what he was told or resigned. And being a good little G-man was becoming more difficult all the time.

Having been away for three nights, he missed Skinner more than he cared to admit. They'd indulged in some pretty hot phone sex--on Skinner's personal nickel, of course, because Kersh was keeping a close watch on Mulder's expense account--but there was no way it would *ever* replace the real thing.

At least something constructive had come of Mulder's Manhattan adventure. During one of the lunchbreaks, he'd left Scully in the hands of some less-tedious U.N. types and taken a walk to relieve his ennui. Before long, he'd happened upon a Barnes and Noble franchise, and decided to screw up his courage and buy a particular book he'd heard about. As nonchalantly as possible, he'd located the Gay and Lesbian Studies section and--bingo!--there it was: the "Joy of Gay Sex." After paying for it with cash and crimson cheeks the blas� cashier never even noticed, he'd stuffed it into his briefcase and left the store like his ass was on fire.

Back in his hotel room that evening, he'd cracked open the trade paperback and pored over it like it was the alien equivalent of the Rosetta stone. There were certain *practices* he was curious about, things he wanted to try, but he was too uncomfortable to voice his desires to Skinner. Which was ridiculous, because Walter Skinner was proving to be one of the most uninhibited people he'd ever known. Oh, Mulder was fine once he was pointed in the right direction. But, to his astonishment, it was the supposedly conservative ex-Marine who was the sexually creative one of the pair. Who started "talking dirty" to him. Who introduced him to the glories of rimming and finger fucking. Who taught him that great sex also consisted of healthy doses of affection and tenderness.

Mulder had fallen asleep reading "The Joy of Gay Sex." Funny, but if he'd had any nightmares later, he didn't remember them. But the erotic dreams--*those* he remembered.

He placed the book on the nightstand on what had become his side of the bed and sat down. Just after five. Skinner might be on his way home. Mulder picked up the bedside phone and dialled Skinner's cell.

Four rings. Then, "Skinner."

"Hi. It's me."

"What can I do for you?" he asked in full A.D. mode. He was still at work, then, in his potentially bug-infested office.

"When are you leaving that hell hole? I'm getting really tired of jerking myself off."

Skinner snorted on the other end. "Now. Food?"

"We can order in. *Later*. Just get that gorgeous ass of yours in gear. And no dawdling on the way home."

"I think that's doable."

*******

He was greeted at the door by a freshly-showered Mulder, clad only in the bathrobe he'd claimed as his own. Skinner was attacked before he had a chance to say a word, take off his coat, or put down his case. They kissed each other thoroughly as they crashed through the apartment, and Mulder was naked and had Skinner stripped down to his jockeys by the time they reached the bottom of the stairs.

And that's as far as they made it.

Mulder guided Skinner to sit on the third step and stood looking at him appreciatively. Skinner reached up to touch Mulder's cock, but the agent intercepted his hands and laced their fingers together. He tipped Skinner back and tried to cover the larger body with his own, exploring the reclining man's mouth with his tongue. Mulder did this with such aching slowness, it was like they'd never kissed before. He walked his tongue along Skinner's gums, between his lips and teeth, then over each tooth and the sensitive roof of his mouth before their tongues and lips finally met possessively.

After one last lingering kiss, Mulder slowly slithered down the hard, muscular form, touching and tasting in a way that was driving Skinner berserk. When he got to the waistband of the briefs, he dragged his tongue along the border of skin and fabric. Using his teeth, he pulled the material away from Skinner's body just enough to expose the glistening head of his cock, and lapped at it hungrily. With maddening patience, he uncovered the rigid shaft one centimetre at a time, nibbling at it while Skinner writhed beneath his mouth. When he reached the root, Skinner moaned and arched his hips slightly. That was Mulder's cue; he pushed the Jockeys down and peeled them off, flinging them out of his way. He spread Skinner's shapely legs and kneeled between them.

"Walter," he intoned reverentially. "God, how I missed you. Missed *this*..."

He ran his hands up and down the perfect body several times before capturing the twitching cock, rolling it between his palms as he bent his mouth to take Skinner's balls. Their grateful owner splayed his fingers on Mulder's head, unable to anchor them in the short, spiky hair, and mumbled something unintelligible.

His pre-cum was flowing freely now, and Skinner, watching with growing fascination, groaned as Mulder licked it off his own fingers. 

"Oh, Jesus, Fox!" His chest was rising and falling rapidly. All he wanted to do was bury himself to the hilt in the sweet, wet hotness of Mulder's mouth and explode...

Mulder was only too happy to oblige.

*******

"Let's go upstairs. You must be uncomfortable."

Skinner was still stretched out on the stairs, on his back, with Mulder wrapped around his middle. "I hadn't noticed, really. But the bedroom's where I want *you*."

Mulder stood up and extended a hand. "Come on." He helped Skinner to his feet, then began gathering up the discarded clothing.

"That can wait, Fox. But I can't." He caressed his lover's cock, which stirred beneath his hand. "And neither can you, apparently."

One of the bedside lamps was glowing, and Skinner was glad. He enjoyed making love with the lights on, being able to see every extraordinary inch of Mulder's body. He embraced his young lover and kissed him passionately as he lowered them onto the bed.

Then the game began.

Skinner detached himself from Mulder's mouth and went to work on his erection. The crown was wet and slippery with pre-ejaculate to begin with, and was soon drenched in saliva. Skinner was in no hurry, though; he teased Mulder mercilessly before taking him as deeply as he could. But as soon as his fingers felt Mulder's balls start to tighten, he let go of the throbbing cock and returned to Mulder's lips, parting them with his tongue. And, this time, he lay on his side to prevent Mulder's erection from brushing up against him. Even with eyes closed, he could sense Mulder moving to touch himself, so he smoothly grabbed one wrist, then the other, in one of his huge hands and pinned them above Mulder's head, soul kissing him all the while. He slid his free hand down the lithe body, stopping at the head of Mulder's cock. He ran the pad of his thumb across the velvety tip and swirled it over the slit where the pre-cum continued to pool.

"Lovely. So lovely," he whispered into Mulder's ear, nibbling on the sensitive lobe.

To Mulder's complete surprise, Skinner traced the wet thumb across the younger man's own lips, then resumed kissing him, sharing Mulder's distinctive taste between them.

Mulder could no longer hear himself breathe, the pounding of his heart was so strong. Craving relief, he uttered a strangled cry of joy when Skinner snaked back down to his groin and took him in his mouth again. But his climax would have to wait.

Twice more Skinner brought him to the edge of release, but refused to let him tip over, tending to his mouth and nipples whenever Mulder got close. Skinner had become such an expert at Mulder's vocalizations, facial expressions and body language that he knew just when to stop him. His jaw would be aching in the morning--Mulder's cock too, for that matter--but the final result would be well worth it for them both.

"Walter, whatterya doing to me?" he whimpered. "I'm *dying* here..."

The fourth time Skinner went down on him, Mulder was ready to weep with frustration--until he was distracted by the sound of the nightstand drawer being opened.

//Oh, thank God!//

As he thrust his tortured cock into Skinner's mouth, he suddenly found a pillow being shoved under his hips and his legs parted. Then a slick, slightly cool finger slid from his balls to his anus, where it teased the tight little hole.

Skinner felt Mulder tense and pulled back.

"Am I hurting you?"

"God, no! But--I'm not sure how clean I am. *Inside*, I mean..."

"Don't care," Skinner told him as he dove back between his legs. Ever so gently, he massaged the puckered opening, thoroughly coating it with lube. When he felt Mulder relax, he positioned his slippery finger and slid it into him, up to the first knuckle. A hedonistic gurgle erupted from the back of Mulder's throat, which encouraged Skinner to press a little harder. As the second knuckle disappeared, Mulder dug his heels into the mattress and pushed down, skewering himself on the probing finger. Skinner slid it all the way in and wiggled it, eventually touching Mulder's prostate.

"Yes, oh yes! Fuck me, goddammit! Now!"

Skinner picked up the pace, his finger matching the rhythm of his mouth as he sucked Mulder off.

Minutes after Mulder had come, Skinner could swear he still heard the echoes of his lover's yelps and obscenities.

*******

"When was the last time you ate?"

Mulder stopped in mid-chew and frowned at the amused look on Skinner's face. "Lunch," he mumbled around a mouthful of pizza. "Why?"

"I guess lovemaking really gives you an appetite."

Mulder relaxed his eyebrows and swallowed. "You're in an awfully good mood tonight."

Skinner leaned over and lapped up some tomato sauce off Mulder's chin. "That's 'cause you're home," he said, resuming his place on the sofa. "By the way, how come you came straight here from the airport, without stopping at the Hoover? You always checked in with *me* whenever you returned from an assignment."

"Well, Assistant Director Skinner, that's because you're a lot cuter than A.D. Kersh. More butch, too. I like my men rough and tough."

Skinner sighed theatrically. "All this time I thought I'd gotten through to you, convinced you to follow FBI protocol, but all you were *really* doing was checking out my bod."

Mulder put his plate down on the coffee table and scooted over to sit in Skinner's lap. "You're a fine one to lecture me about regs, Mr. Skinner, Sir." He removed the other man's glasses and used his fingers to draw circles around his ears. "I was under the distinct impression that you're under the Director's orders to stay away from me."

Skinner slipped his hands down the back of Mulder's sweatpants. "Professionally, yes. But he never said a word about not sleeping with you."

"So we're talking semantics."

"Precisely." He indicated the pizza box with a tilt of his head. "More pizza?"

"Uh-uh. More Skinner."

He groaned. "Jesus, Fox, I can barely eat *food* as it is!"

Mulder laughed kindly. "That's okay, gorgeous. Your jaw's had quite the workout tonight. Let's see how long *mine* can last."

*******

Thanksgiving was over, and that meant only one thing: Christmas was coming. The holiday that Fox Mulder hated the most.

Oh, he'd loved it as a kid, before they took Samantha away. Their father was Jewish, but had lost his faith somewhere along the way, passing none of it onto his children. Their mother, a "good Christian woman" who wasn't terribly religious herself, encouraged Fox and Sam to leave milk and cookies for Santa, filled their Christmas stockings, helped them decorate the tree, bought and wrapped gifts, made gingerbread houses.

Then, at the impressionable age of 12, Fox found himself an only child to a mother who now cared for Christmas as little as her husband. No more cookies, or stockings, or trees, or candy canes. Or hugs, or singing, or laughter. Just meals eaten in deadly silence, scalding tears, and bitter arguments made worse by too much alcohol.

Since the brink of puberty, Mulder had dismissed the winter holiday break as a source of unpleasant memories and crippling despair.

"There must have been some good times," Skinner had said to him, trying to bring him out of his funk. "Don't you remember any of those?"

"Of course I do!" Mulder's response had been uncharacteristically harsh. "That's what makes the bad ones so fucking painful!"

Normally, Mulder didn't lash out at people who enjoyed Christmas, or Hanukkah, or whatever they chose to celebrate this time of year. While he envied them, he was happy that they had something to enjoy and take comfort in in the depths of winter's icy grip. But, this year, both Scully and Skinner's good cheer was rubbing him the wrong way.

  
Walter Skinner's Apartment  
Crystal City, Virginia  
Sunday, 3:40 p.m.

It was still unseasonably mild for late November, so they'd gone for a long run that morning. It was one of the few things they risked doing in public together since word had come down from the FBI's upper echelons that Assistant Director Walter Skinner was to avoid all contact with his former Special Agent. So they ran in distant neighbourhoods, and drove miles out of town to eat in a restaurant or see a movie.

Mulder was sullen of late, and Skinner suspected that cabin fever had something to do with it.

But not everything.

When they'd returned to the condo after their run, Skinner'd improved Mulder's mood considerably by ravishing him in the kitchen just after they'd gulped down some more water to rehydrate themselves.

At first, Mulder had been reluctant to get physical. "Shit, Walter! I'm all sweaty and gross!"

"Shut up! I love it when you're skin's salty and slippery like this..."

Skinner had wound up having his way with him. The clincher had come when he filled his mouth with cool water before taking Mulder's warm cock between his lips--and swallowing both.

"You've been reading 'The Book' again, haven't you, Walter?" Mulder had groaned as he leaned against the cupboards, his sweatpants bunched up around his ankles, with Skinner on his knees before him.

"The Book" was "The Joy of Gay Sex," and had become their Bible. Skinner had been surprised but thoroughly delighted that Mulder had picked it up for them. Sometimes they read parts of it together, or to each other, and the result was always the same: really hot sex.

Now, one steamy shower later, they were planted on the couch, watching football, sated after their two-part orgy in the kitchen: sex first, then food.

Whenever they did anything as mundane as watch TV, they were drawn to each other's bodies like magnets. But not lustful magnets. Well, not always. While eating at the table, for instance, Skinner's hand would seek out Mulder's, or vice versa, and they invariably finished the meal with their long legs intertwined.

Today they'd started out sitting side-by-side with their stockinged feet up on the coffee table, Skinner's arm on the back of the couch behind Mulder. Then the arm slid down to Mulder's shoulder, and he rested his head on Skinner's shoulder. Now Mulder was firmly rooted between Skinner's legs, leaning against the broad chest, his hands holding the bigger ones that wrapped around his waist. Skinner would occasionally kiss Mulder's head, or Mulder would play with the soft hair on Skinner's forearms. They were content to touch and be touched, hold and be held, making up for so many lonely, lost years on lazy Sunday afternoons such as this.

During half-time, Skinner asked Mulder what his plans were for Christmas.

Big mistake.

Mulder went stock still in his arms. "What do you mean, 'plans?'" There was an edge to his voice that hadn't been there a moment ago.

Skinner cleared his throat. "Are you going to visit your mother?"

"Why the hell would I do *that*?"

Stung by the sharpness of his lover's words, Skinner stubbornly carried on. "It's Christmas, Fox. I'd visit *my* mother if she were still alive."

Mulder untangled himself from the other man. "Things are different with my family. If you'd ever listen to a goddamn thing I said, you'd know that by now."

"Where are you going?" Skinner asked, alarmed.

"To pee--if that's okay with you."

//Fuck!//

When Mulder hadn't come back after 15 minutes, Skinner walked over to the bathroom and knocked on the door. "Fox? You okay?"

He heard the toilet flush and the sound of the tap running. "Yeah."

"Coming out?"

He stood back as the door swung open and Mulder emerged, head hanging down.

"Walter, I'm--"

"Come here." Skinner pulled him in for a long hug, then held the dark head between his hands and looked into Mulder's cheerless eyes. "I didn't mean to set you off. And I *do* listen when you talk about your mother, and how your relationship with her is different from the way mine was with my mom. I'm just trying to find out, in my own clumsy way, if you'll be spending the holidays with me. That's all."

Mulder gulped. "If you want me to..."

"Of course I want you to, dummy. Jesus!"

"What did you do for the holidays last year?" he asked as Skinner led him back to the sofa.

He sat down and positioned Mulder so that he was lying down with his head in Skinner's lap, then started stroking his hair. "Got drunk. I guess I was feeling pretty sorry for myself. And I couldn't stop thinking about you. What you were doing, how much I wanted to be with you. Don't want to go through that again."

"God, Walter..."

"I know, it's a shitty time to be alone. But when you have someone to share it with, it can be so...wonderful." The big hands started smoothing Mulder's back and shoulders, working his tense muscles loose. "I know you just can't forget the past, Fox, but I'd like to try to make you happy in the here and now."

Mulder squeezed his eyes and fought back a potential emotional waterfall. His hand tightened around Skinner's thigh. "Thanks."

"Fox--"

"Hmm?"

"I remember how devastated you were when your mother had that stroke. It's none of my business, but I know you love her. Not that I'm trying to get rid of you or anything, but wouldn't this be the ideal time to try to mend the rift between you?"

Mulder rolled onto his back and looked up into Skinner's concerned face. "Believe me, Walter, I've tried. As long as mom and I keep things on a superficial level, everything's fine. But she won't talk to me about the important stuff, like who my father *really* is, or what happened to Sam. You're right. I *do* love her. I just don't like her very much. And I'll *never* forgive her for what she's done to me."

"I'm sorry, Fox." Skinner placed a loving palm on the same cheek that Mulder's mother had slapped not that long ago, effectively dismissing her son from her life.

They went back to watching the game, and both fell into a restless, uneasy sleep.

  
FBI Headquarters  
Washington, D.C.  
Wednesday, 11:55 a.m.

Ever since he'd been reassigned, Mulder felt like he was working in a goldfish bowl. This open concept shit sucked. God, how he missed his basement office! Every time he thought of Spender down there, at *his* desk, doing *his* work, he wanted to spit.

He sat hunched over his keyboard, tidying up wiretaps he'd spent hours transcribing for Kersh--who else?--and was bored to death. His face brightened when Scully appeared on the scene.

"Hey, Scully! How was Quantico?"

She'd been asked to do an autopsy early that morning, something she normally didn't relish, but anything that took her away from this post X-Files monotony was a welcome relief.

"The usual. I see *you're* having fun."

"Oh, yeah. Big time."

She put her briefcase on her desk, but not her purse. "Come on, Mulder. Let's get some lunch."

He quirked an eyebrow at her. "What's the occasion? Did Peter propose or something?"

She shook her head at him. "No, Mulder, *Rod* didn't propose. I just thought you could use a break from...this. Besides, I'm hungry and I don't want to eat alone."

He let her talk him into going to an actual restaurant, instead of the Hoover cafeteria or a fast-food place. As she chattered away during the meal, he realized that this was a set-up. She was trying to worm some information out of him about his love life.

"Scully, Scully, Scully," he chided. "I don't kiss and tell."

"Come on, Mulder. You can't let your mother meet her before I do!"

He put his fork down. "My mother?"

"You're going to take her home to meet your mother, aren't you?"

"Why?"

She rolled her eyes. "It's *Christmas*, Mulder!"

"We don't do Christmas in my family. You know that."

"But this is different." 

//If you only knew *how* different!//

"I'm not going to my mother's. I'm staying here."

"Don't you mean 'we?'"

He groaned and pushed away his half-full plate. "God, Scully. You're worse than a pitbull."

She pouted. "I'm hurt, Mulder. Really hurt. I thought we'd finally got beyond keeping secrets from each other."

"There are some things you're better off not knowing, Scully. Trust me."

//For once.//

"This is killing me, you know."

"You'll get over it."

*******

Driving home that night--to his apartment, for a change; he needed to feed the fish and collect his mail--Mulder thought about the declining state of his friendship with Scully. It was just one of the things that was bothering him recently.

But no problem was big enough to distract him from thinking about Skinner for very long.

Always there, buzzing in Mulder's head like a case of tinnitus, was the certainty that Skinner would end the relationship. It was just a matter of time.

And now there was something fresh for Mulder's neurosis to feed on.

He knew that Skinner *believed* that he loved him. You didn't have to be an FBI agent to figure it out. But Skinner had never said IT. And Mulder was confused. And angry. And relieved.

If Skinner thought he loved him, why couldn't he just say so? He'd expressed his feelings in so many ways. Was it that hard to actually say IT?

But if Skinner was waiting for Mulder to say IT first, forget it! He'd said IT to Phoebe, and she'd laughed at him, finally left him. Maybe he was just as wrong about Skinner as he'd been about Phoebe, so saying IT first to him would be humiliating. "Once bitten, twice shy," as the old saying goes. Mulder wasn't about to be bitten again.

But what if Skinner really did love Mulder and told him as much? Then Mulder would have to say IT back. Wouldn't he? And there was the rub.

Mulder loved Skinner to a degree that both terrified and exhilarated him. But he simply *couldn't* tell him. When the time came for Skinner to turn his back and walk away, Mulder reasoned it would be much easier on Skinner if he could say, "The little prick never loved me anyway."

So he didn't want Skinner to say, "I love you."

But he did.

More than anything.

And he wanted to say it back.

  
Walter Skinner's Apartment  
Crystal City, Virginia  
Friday, 7:10 p.m.

"What's the matter? Don't you like it?"

"It's fine. Just not very hungry." Mulder put down the fork he'd been mindlessly pushing his food around the plate with.

What worried Skinner far more than the fact that his lanky lover was playing with his pork chops and potatoes instead of eating them was that he'd hardly said a word during dinner.

The last couple of years--hell, the last couple of *decades* --had been particularly hard on the man. Skinner had hoped that his unconditional love for Mulder would help make him whole again. And things had been going well. For a while there, Mulder was less self-deprecating, more confident, almost *content*. Then the shit hit the fan at the Bureau, and the walls that Mulder had began to lower were now going back up.

And it was tearing Skinner apart.

Except for the sex--which was getting more spectacular by the day--it seemed that everything he said or did, every approach he took, was wrong. Mulder was more sensitive and paranoid than ever, constantly questioning Skinner's motives. So they'd argued. Well, mostly *Mulder* argued, while his former boss and current lover let him rant before calmly presenting his side of the story. And staying cool was getting harder all the time.

"Fox, please tell me what's bothering you. Let me help..."

Mulder got up from the table so abruptly that Skinner jumped in his chair. "Goddamnit, Walter, get off my back, okay? The only thing that's bothering me right now is *you*!"

Skinner blinked and swallowed the bile he could taste in the back of his throat. "I think I have a right to be concerned about you." He said it placidly, but his guts were churning.

"Well, don't be. I can take care of myself. Always have."

The agent bolted to the window and stared, unseeing, at the cold, twinkling lights of Crystal City.

//What the fuck am I doing?//

"I don't mean to be such a prick," he mumbled, afraid to turn around and face those sad, probing brown eyes. "I'm just tired, that's all."

Skinner knew there was more to it--much more--than that, but he also realized that pushing Mulder wasn't going to get him anywhere. He walked over to where the younger man was standing and gently placed his hands on his shoulders. "Maybe we should just turn in early tonight."

The other didn't move. "I think--I think I'd like to go home." He felt the hands slide off him and winced, feeling cold and empty. "Alone."

The word shot out like a poison-tipped arrow, piercing Skinner's heart.

Since they started seeing each other in October, they'd spent every weekend together, at Skinner's. And more and more week nights, too. It took everything the A.D. had in him not to beg Mulder to stay. Instead, he curled his huge hands into impossibly tight fists and backed away, giving Mulder some space.

"Fine." He tried to make it sound nonchalant, but the blood was pounding in his ears so loudly that he couldn't tell if he'd succeeded or not.

"Don't take it personally, Walter," Mulder told him. "I just need some time to myself. I've basically been on my own since I was 12, and I'm starting to feel--suffocated."

Skinner was flabbergasted, but remained outwardly unruffled. "I'm *suffocating* you?"

"It seems like I'm here all the time. Like you're planning my life for me. Always taking control."

"I haven't exactly been putting a gun to your head, Fox. You could have said 'no' any time."

"I--I didn't want to hurt your feelings."

"I didn't realize that spending time with me was so awful."

"Stop trying to make me feel guilty!"

"I can't *make* you feel anything. I think that's fairly obvious by now, don't you?"

Two weeks earlier, Walter Skinner had taken one of the greatest risks of his life by admitting to Mulder that he loved him. He hadn't expected Mulder to feel the same way. In fact, he'd gotten to the point where he didn't expect much of anything. That way, if things didn't turn out how he wanted, he wasn't disappointed. And if they did, it was gravy. But, damn it all, down in the murky depths of his soul, he'd secretly harboured the hope that Mulder would say those three magical words back to him.

He hadn't.

Now, the gaping wound that Skinner had managed to ignore for the past 14 days was beginning to hurt like hell.

Mulder spun around to face him. "This is what I'm talking about! You expect--you want too much from me!" he fairly spat. There was something feral about his eyes that frightened the other man.

"I want *you*, Fox," Skinner said quietly, evenly.

Mulder couldn't look at him. "That's *your* problem."

"I don't think it's a problem."

"Well, you're wrong. You didn't know what you were getting into when you hooked up with me. I can't be what you want me to be."

Skinner ran a hand over his smooth scalp in frustration. "I don't want you to be anything but yourself. The man I fell--" He caught himself, hesitating for just a hair's breath. "--for in the first place."

"Bullshit."

"Fox--"

Mulder was back in his face. "There's a perfect example! My name's *Mulder*. But no, you *have* to call me by my fucking first name, which I told you I fucking hate."

"But--"

"Let me finish! I tell you I don't celebrate my birthday, that it means nothing to me, but you make a huge fucking deal out of it. I tell you I don't do holidays, but you turn this place into fucking Plymouth Rock for Thanksgiving. And now you're nagging me about what we should do for fucking Christmas! 'Let's buy a tree, Fox!' 'Let's go shopping, Fox!' 'Let's take a vacation, Fox!' Jesus! You're too much!"

Suddenly, Skinner felt the overwhelming need to sit down. Felt it, but fought it. He put a hand on a nearby chair to steady himself. "I thought you enjoyed what we did for your birthday. And Thanksgiving."

"Things are a lot easier for me to put up with when I'm being blown like a trumpet." He watched as Skinner's face bleached itself of colour, but was helpless to stop his own diatribe. "Maybe it's time you figured out that sex won't always get you what you want from me."

Skinner stood there, leaning heavily on the chair, staring at the stranger he'd been sleeping with for the past two months. He staved off the wave of nausea that was threatening, the brutal stinging of tears behind his eyelids. When he had his mind and body under all but the flimsiest layer of control, he dared to speak.

"I think you should leave now." The back of the wooden chair beneath his hand groaned under the strain.

Mulder blinked and barked out a nasty laugh. "I knew you'd throw me out sooner or later."

"I am *not* throwing you out." Skinner barely recognized his own voice. "You said you wanted to leave. Now would be a good time."

"Fine." Mulder made for the door. "Have a nice life."

That did it. Skinner grabbed Mulder's upper arm as he tried to storm past him, digging his granite fingers into the tender flesh.

"Let go of me, you goddamned son of a bitch!"

Skinner had no trouble dragging him over to the sofa and roughly pushing him down into it. He leaned over Mulder, effectively imprisoning him by placing his hands on the back of the couch, on either side of Mulder's head.

"What the hell's the matter with you?" he roared. "Don't you fucking tell me to 'have a nice life' and just walk out on me. You're behaving like some kind of lunatic..."

Trembling but defiant, Mulder locked onto Skinner's blazing eyes. "What are you going to do, Walter? Have me committed *again*?"

Skinner recoiled as though slapped. Hard. He backed up until his legs found the coffee table, and he sank down onto it gratefully. The anger was gone, washed away.

"Fox--sorry--*Mulder*, I've already apologized to you about that. As your supervisor, and as your lover. You said you'd forgiven me."

Now it was Mulder who raged. "I guess it's not that easy to forgive someone who nearly gets you killed because he doesn't believe you or trust you."

"I *do* believe and trust--"

"Well, you didn't then, did you? That *thing* that called itself Greg Pincus would have got you if I hadn't intervened. And what fucking thanks do I get for saving your pompous ass? You ship me off to the loony bin and leave me to die! I should have let Pincus turn you into a zombie. Not that there'd be much of a noticeable difference."

Walter Skinner had been sucker punched in his day, but this was the lowest blow. And he was goddamned if he was going to give Fox Mulder the satisfaction of seeing him double over. "Get out." It wasn't just a command; it was a warning.

For a split second, he saw the vicious sneer on Mulder's face slide off, replaced by a look of profound sorrow and confusion. Then it was gone, and Mulder was sprinting toward the door. "With pleasure."

But Skinner got there just as it was being opened, and slammed it shut. With one hand still on the door, he grabbed Mulder and yanked him around so that their faces were mere inches apart. Skinner's eyes were hard. And too bright.

"I know what you're doing, and it's not going to work."

"You don't know shit. What the--"

"Shut the fuck up and listen for once in your fucking life!" Skinner was livid. "You're trying to provoke me, goad me into punching your lights out and calling it quits with you. Well, you can just damn well forget it! If you want to end things, have the balls to end them yourself. I'm not going to do it for you. And I'm not going to let you sabotage the only decent adult relationship you've ever had. You *fucking* need me as much as I need you, whether you care to admit it or not. I'm sorry to disappoint you and ruin all your plans for a shitty life alone, but I'm not giving up on you that easily. I'm not giving up on *us*."

Breathing hard, Mulder glared at his captor. "May I go now--*Sir*?"

Skinner was mute. He'd been called a lot of names over the course of his life, but the way Mulder'd said "Sir" did more damage than all of them combined. He stepped back and clamped his eyes shut, not opening them until after the door had closed behind Mulder.

He looked around his apartment as though he'd never seen it before. His clouded gaze finally came to rest on the dining room table and the debris of their unfinished dinner. He was there in seconds, tensing the muscles in his right arm. In his mind, he could see himself sweeping the table clean with one mighty stroke, then flipping it over with a satisfying crash. But the sight of the uneaten food and Mulder's empty chair quelled his violent urges.

He dropped to his knees and clutched his stomach.

//Oh, God! This can't be happening!//

*******

Mulder stumbled down the hall to the bank of elevators and punched the down button. There were three elevators in this building; what was taking so fucking long? He looked at the exit sign above the door to the stairwell. No, walking down 17 floors wasn't going to happen tonight. He didn't have the legs for it.

"Come on, come on," he mumbled under his breath, jamming the heel of his hand into the control panel. He was terrified that he was going to give into the little voice in his head that was telling him--*ordering* him--to go back to the apartment and beg for Skinner's forgiveness.

The bell of the elevator made him cry out. He stood in front of the doors, hoping that when he stepped through them, the car wouldn't be there--just the empty shaft. Even death-defying Fox Mulder couldn't survive a 17-storey fall.

But the elevator *did* come. And there were people in it. So he waited until he was behind the wheel of his car before he started to scream.

*******

Skinner got to the bathroom just in time to empty his stomach of its contents. When he was finished, he crawled over to the tub and turned on the cold water, then leaned over the side and stuck his head under the faucet. It revived him enough to get back on his feet. Just.

As he re-entered the living room, he half expected to see Mulder there.

"Fox?" he called softly. "Fox!" Louder this time. "FOX!!!"

He collapsed on the couch and buried his face in his hands.

"Fuck!"

*******

About halfway home, Mulder had to pull off to the side of the road. He was sobbing hysterically now, blinded with tears.

He wanted to go back to Skinner--oh, God, how he wanted to!--but how could he, after all the horrible things he'd said?

Walter was right; he'd done everything in his power to pick a fight and get dumped. Hurrying along the inevitable had seemed like a good idea at the time. And if he'd been wrong all along, and Skinner had been planning to build a life with him, it was too late now. He'd blown it big time.

Mulder never quite knew how long he sat there, or how he got home that night. All he knew was that his throat and eyes were ravaged from the fit he'd thrown in the car, and that his heart was breaking.

While Fox Mulder curled up in a fetal position and cried himself to sleep in Alexandria, Walter Skinner did the same in Crystal City.

  
Walter Skinner's Apartment  
Crystal City, Virginia  
Saturday, 5:18 a.m.

Dawn was still a long way off, but Skinner couldn't stand it any more.

He was awakened by a nightmare--a vivid replay of last night's debacle--just after one o'clock, and never really got back to sleep. Every time he closed his eyes, all he could see was Mulder's angry, accusing face.

He threw off the covers and staggered into the bathroom to relieve himself. As he washed his hands, he glanced up at the mirror and gasped.

"Sweet Jesus," he said to his distorted reflection. "No wonder he wants out." He gulped down a glass of cold water, then soaked a face cloth and took it back to bed with him. The big, empty bed.

//Oh, Fox...//

The minutes dragged as he lay there with the cloth across his badly swollen eyes.

When the cloth was no longer cool, he got up and put on some workout clothes. The building's gym would be empty at this hour, and he had to do *something* or he'd lose his mind.

Or start trashing the apartment.

*******

He spent longer than he should have working out. But it felt good to concentrate on something other than his fight with Mulder. By the time he left the gym, there were only three other people there, and all of them avoided him. He didn't just look like shit; he looked dangerous.

Back upstairs, he put on a pot of coffee and tried to eat some toast, but couldn't stomach it. He was about to take a shower when he glanced at the clock.

//Shit! Not even eight!//

What the hell was he going to do the rest of the day? The rest of the fucking weekend?

He changed into sweats and chugged down some sports drink. As he laced up his shoes, he realized he couldn't run from his problems, but he sure as hell was going to try.

*******

Of course, while he ran, Mulder was *all* he could think about, and that nearly got him run over at least twice. Thank God it was early Saturday and the traffic was light.

He was exhausted when he got back to his building, and decided to forego his usual ritual of taking the stairs.

Once inside his apartment, he rehydrated himself, then poured a cup of coffee. At least he could keep *that* down. He took the steaming mug with him upstairs, and peeled off his sweat-soaked clothes. He hoped a hot shower would make him feel better, but--like everything else in this place--it reminded him of Mulder. He ended up on the floor of the shower stall, weeping, with his head on his knees.

When he'd cried himself out, he half-heartedly dried off, flopped down on the bed, and promptly fell asleep.

There was something to be said for pushing yourself beyond fatigue after all.

*******

He awoke around 2:30, dismayed that there was so much of the day left.

What the hell did he use to do on weekends before he and Mulder became lovers?

He used to spend a lot of time at the office. But that was out of the question today, unless he wore a balaclava.

And he used to read more. But his eyes were too sore, and he didn't think he could concentrate on a book anyway.

He stared at the phone and sighed heavily.

Nothing was ever easy with Mulder. Never black or white, right or wrong. There were always two possibilities to each scenario, and one led to disaster every time. If he *did *call Mulder, Fox might feel like he was being crowded and withdraw even further into himself. But if he *didn't* call, Mulder would likely surmise that Skinner had given up on him...and withdraw even further into himself. 

No, it was too soon to make contact. He'd give it until Monday night, and if he hadn't heard from Mulder by then, *then* he'd take the initiative.

If he could last that long.

  
Fox Mulder's Apartment  
Alexandria, Virginia  
Saturday, 4:20 p.m.

"What am I going to do?"

He stared into the aquarium, but the fish couldn't answer him. And there was no one else he could turn to for advice. Certainly not Scully. The Lone Gunmen? The guys would laugh their guts out once they recovered from the shock of their old pal, Fox Mulder, feeling suicidal over another *guy*. Over Assistant Director Walter Sergei Skinner, of all people.

What had happened last night made Mulder's worst nightmare look like a wet dream. It was a classic case of Dr. Mulder and Mr. Hyde. Christ! Why had he acted that way?

Skinner was the only person who'd ever given him everything he wanted. Friendship. Comfort. Companionship. Stability. Honesty. Loyalty. Trust. Intimacy. Love.

//How could a man like that love an asshole like me?//

He thought back to two weeks ago, to the day that marked the beginning of the end.

Skinner had just zinged him *again* with another mind-blowing sexual manoeuvre he'd picked up from "The Book."

When Mulder could finally talk coherently, he'd told Skinner he was certifiable--gifted, but certifiable.

"What can I say?" Skinner had shrugged. " Love makes a man do crazy things."

The blood had almost stopped coursing through Mulder's veins. "*Love*? Who said anything about love?"

Mulder could still picture Skinner's earnest face. "Come on, Fox. You know I love you. If what I've being saying or doing hasn't tipped you off, surely my security code did."

Of course Mulder knew. So how did he pay Skinner back for his candour? For being so brave as to give his heart to a man who desperately wanted and needed it, but was more likely to dash it to pieces because he couldn't handle it?

He'd said, "Thanks," and started ranting about Kersh, or Spender, or something totally meaningless.

Yes, he'd wounded Skinner then, and practically finished him off last night.

"I don't deserve to live on the same planet as him," he told the fish.

  
Walter Skinner's Apartment  
Crystal City, Virginia  
Saturday, 10:35 p.m.

Skinner was channel surfing, desperate to find *something* that would numb his tortured mind for at least a fraction of this endless night, when he heard someone at the door.

A neighbour? Not likely, especially at this hour. *Fox*? No. Why would he knock when he had his own key?

Whoever it was rapped again, louder this time. Skinner clicked off the TV, got up from the couch, and cautiously approached the door, peeking through the spyhole.

//Oh, God!//

It *was* Mulder.

*******

He certainly wasn't expecting Skinner's usual sartorial splendour, but he was totally unprepared for the sexily scruffy man who now stood before him in the doorway. He was unshaven, barefoot, wearing grey sweatpants that hung low on his hips and a small black T-shirt--one of Mulder's--that covered the magnificent torso like a coat of paint.

What really shook Mulder, though, were Skinner's eyes: horribly puffy and red-rimmed behind the stylish glasses, and filled with a curious combination of anguish and surprise. As they bore into Mulder, the dark eyebrows arched slightly.

//Why are you here?//

Mulder swallowed and glanced over Skinner's shoulder, nodding at the living room.

Skinner stepped aside and silently ushered him in.

*******

He hesitated before opening the door, resting his fevered brow against the cool surface. Why was Mulder back? He didn't expect to see him for the rest of the weekend. He was either here to pick up some or all of his stuff, or--

Skinner didn't want to get his hopes up.

He opened the door to find Mulder well-groomed: clean-shaven, hair neat (how could anything that short get messy?), and dressed in crisp khakis and a plaid shirt. He could easily pass himself off as a college kid. But his face was a study in misery. He must have been chewing on his lower lip--a childhood habit he reverted to when upset--because it was more prominent than usual. His nose was raw, like he was suffering from a severe cold. And those eyes! Red and swollen, they were almost painful to look at.

He was so tragically beautiful that Skinner couldn't speak. He wanted to ask Mulder what he was doing here, why he hadn't used his key. But all he could manage was to raise his brows questioningly. And he wasn't the least bit startled when Mulder picked up on this particular style of semaphore and replied in kind.

Skinner stepped aside and silently ushered him in.

*******

Once the door was closed, they simply regarded each other, two broken but not irreparable men, unsure of what to do next. The stillness between them was even more excruciating than the tempest of the night before.

Mulder was the first to break free from the spell. He choked back a watery hiccup and slowly raised his right arm, reaching toward Skinner with a quivering hand, watching it with apparent fascination.

Tentatively, Skinner extended his left hand and touched it to Mulder's palm. Brimming eyes locked and fingers linked. Then Skinner drew his lover into the circle of his arms, and Mulder clung to him, finding solace in the familiar warmth of Skinner's embrace.

"Sorry. So sorry, Walter. God, so sorry..."

Skinner stroked his back, smoothed his hair. "Ssh, baby," he soothed between his own racking sobs. "S'okay."

Neither knew how long they stood there, one muttering muffled apologies, the other offering absolution. But, later, they reckoned it must have been a while, because Mulder's knees started to give way. He tightened his grip around Skinner's neck, but before he could slide to the floor, Skinner picked him up, walked over to the couch, and sat down with Mulder curled up in his lap. "What did you do to yourself today?" Skinner's voice was rich with distress.

"Went running. Did, I dunno, ten miles. Maybe more."

"And when was the last time you ate?"

"Uh, last night." That got him a stern look. They both knew how little of his dinner he'd actually eaten. "I had some coffee, but I couldn't keep anything solid down."

Skinner's expression softened. "Yeah, I know." He bent over and pressed his ear to Mulder's concave belly. "Sounds pretty empty in there. Feel like something now?"

Mulder realized he *was* hungry. "Sure."

"I'll be right back..."

"No! I want to help."

"You can barely stand."

"So I'll sit. Just get me into the kitchen. I want to be with you."

Skinner ruffled his hair affectionately. "Stubborn bastard. Come on, then. Hold onto my neck."

"Walter?"

Getting up from the couch with a 170-pound man in his arms was a lot more difficult than sitting down with one, but Skinner did it with his customary grace. He stood still and returned Mulder's gaze. "Hmm?"

A brief pause. "Why?"

Skinner rubbed his nose against Mulder's and managed a weak smile. "I love you, dummy. I told you--I don't give up easy."

"Shit, Walter. You're crazier than I am."

"Lucky for you." He brushed Mulder's lips with his own--their first kiss in what seemed like an eternity. Mulder responded with a fierce passion that made Skinner's head spin. "Stop it!" he chuckled into Mulder's mouth. "In my weakened condition, I might drop you on your ass if you keep doing that."

In the kitchen, Skinner sat Mulder down at the counter and began pulling sandwich fixings and juice out of the fridge. They worked together, side by side, then ate like wolves.

"Feeling better?" Skinner asked when they were done.

"Yeah. Not light-headed anymore. Thanks." He took Skinner's hand.

"Fo " he began, then grinned ruefully. "Do I *really* have to call you 'Mulder?'"

"No. I was just being an asshole when I said that. Call me 'Fox.' I like it when you do. Really."

Skinner met Mulder's eyes. "So, Fox, would you mind telling me what happened here last night?" he asked softly.

Mulder's hold on Skinner's fingers became firmer. He felt the burning shame welling up inside again, and had to look away.

Skinner scooted his chair closer to the younger man and moulded his free hand to the nape of his neck. "I'd just as soon avoid that kind of thing in the future."

"Me too. I'm--I'm so afraid, Walter."

"Of what?"

"The way I feel about you. The thought of losing you..."

Skinner wanted to say something to reassure Mulder that that would never happen, but squeezed his hand instead, realizing that this was one of those times when his silence was more constructive than any words he could offer.

Mulder squeezed back in appreciation. "Each of us--people in general, I mean--has what's referred to as a 'comfort zone' that relates to our self-image. Comfort zones aren't always the greatest places to be, but they're what we know, and when we move out of them, we become tense and anxious, and can't wait to get back to them.

"For most of my life, my comfort zone has been a world of isolation. The perfect place for a guy with skeletons in his closet, a guy people call 'Spooky.' I don't like my comfort zone, but it's where I feel I belong. Every time I've tried to break away from it, I've felt like a fish out of water. And I've always gotten hurt."

He twisted on the chair so he was fully facing Skinner, but concentrated his focus on their joined hands. "I fell apart when Phoebe broke up with me. The pain was nearly unbearable. And what scares the living shit out of me, Walter, is the fact that as much as I thought I loved Phoebe, it's *nothing* compared with what I feel for you."

Skinner let out a small gasp and bit down on his lip so he wouldn't interrupt.

"After the fiasco with Diana, I swore I'd never let myself get close to anyone again. I even shut myself off from any form of physical intimacy--hence, my pathetic collection of pornography. I didn't venture forth from my sick little comfort zone for years. And then *you* came along, and I fell hopelessly in love with you. And now I don't think--no, I *know* I won't be able to handle it when you leave..."

He framed Mulder's downcast face with his hands. "Fox, you're the most important thing in my life! I could *never* leave you. How can you even think that?"

"Because that's how it's always been. I always wind up alone."

Gently, Skinner pulled his lover onto his own chair so that Mulder was straddling him, his long legs tucked up beside Skinner's thighs. "Not this time. Not if you don't want to."

"Of course I don't *want* to! But when it comes to relationships, I'm a total fuckup. Even my own parents..."

Skinner placed a silencing finger over his lips. "Forgive me, Fox, but if anyone's fucked up, it's your parents. I won't pretend to understand the hell they went through when your sister disappeared, but to turn their backs on you afterward was criminal. They don't deserve your love, or all the effort you've put into winning theirs. As for your romantic entanglements, Phoebe Green was a sadistic, heartless bitch who got her kicks playing mind games, and Diana Fowley--well, the chemistry just wasn't there."

"Tell me about it."

"But Scully loves you, Fox. Your friendship with her is enviable. And *I* love you. I'm *in love* with you. And I think we've got some *incredible* chemistry..."

He proved his point with a deep, long kiss.

"I've been looking for you my whole life," Skinner continued, "and I'll be here for as long as you want me."

Mulder's brows furrowed. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Well, you're not even gay."

Mulder shot him an "oh, really?" look.

"You're still young. You might want to get married and have kids some day..."

He stroked the fine hair at Skinner's temples. "Having a so-called traditional family has never been a priority for me, Walter. Not with my background. As for sexual attraction, I haven't looked twice at *anybody* since we started seeing each other." He erased the sceptical little frown by planting a row of soft kisses across Skinner's balding pate. "I truly can't picture myself being with anyone--male *or* female--but you. I feel like I've won the goddamn state lottery or something."

Skinner sighed. "Some prize *I* am. I've been looking in the mirror lately and thinking I'm too old for you, not good looking enough..."

"Hey!" Mulder took Skinner by the chin. "I'm supposed to be the insecure one in this relationship, not you! Jesus, Walter, you're only nine years older than I am, and you're the sexiest, most beautiful person I've ever seen. Not just your body, not just your face, but what's inside, too. Believe me...you've got nothing to worry about. *Ever*."

"Neither do you, Fox," he whispered, drowning happily in the naked honesty of those haunted hazel eyes.

"Yeah, if you like scrawny guys with big noses and overbites..."

Skinner tweaked his nose playfully. "I *love* your nose. And your body. You're not scrawny. You're *lean*. As for that gorgeous little overbite--well, just thinking about your mouth makes me lose my mind." He pulled Mulder's head down for a significant kiss, and when he released him, his countenance was serious. "I want to spend the rest of my life with you, Fox."

"What--?"

"I want you to be the last thing I see every night, and the first thing I see every morning."

"What are you saying?"

"I thought you could move in here. If you want, that is. We could turn the spare bedroom into a private den for you, so you'd have your own space. And if you don't like this place, or if we get kicked out for making too much noise during sex, we could buy something together. A house, maybe."

"My God, Walter..."

"But you don't have to do it right away. Or even at all, if you don't want to." He took off his glasses, set them down on the table, and nuzzled into Mulder's shirtfront. "I'll do anything to make this work. *Anything*. The last thing I want to do is smother you or drive you away."

Mulder rested his cheek on the top of Skinner's head. "I said a lot of stupid things last night. Things I didn't mean. It was so weird, like there was another me, an *invisible* me, watching myself from across the room. Watching myself say and do things to you that were so horrible. Unforgivable. After all that, I can't believe you still want me to move in with you. Are you sure?"

"Absolutely. I've never been more sure of anything."

Mulder took a deep breath. "I should have said this ages ago, Walter Skinner. I love you."

Skinner looked up, eyes shining, a tremulous smile on his lips. "Thank you. You know I love you, too." Tears of sorrow, tears of relief, tears of joy. If all this emotional shit didn't end soon, he was going to need more than a little cosmetic surgery.

A little shaky himself, Mulder bent his head and licked at the corners of Skinner's blotchy eyes, giving the older man the opportunity to trace his own tongue along the curves of Mulder's slender throat. Within moments, the roving tongues found each other and became blissfully entwined.

"Wait," Skinner panted. "I should go shave..."

Mulder kissed him almost savagely, grinding his soft flesh into the scratchy stubble. "No! I want to feel the burn of each kiss. I want you to mark me."

"Fox, I forgive you, okay? You don't have to wear a hair shirt for me..."

But Mulder slid off his lap and was tugging him out of the chair. "Take me to bed. I don't want to wait anymore. I want you, Walter. I need you. *Now*."

With no intention of unleashing any kind of punishment on Mulder, no matter how much he felt he deserved or demanded it, Skinner let himself be guided upstairs.

*******

It was raining in Walter Skinner's bedroom--a veritable torrent of shirts and pants and briefs and socks. Long, wet kisses and gales of heavy breathing drowned out the sounds of tearing fabric and popping buttons.

Skinner knew all too well that if he didn't give the sexual performance of his life tonight, Mulder would dwell on the negative aspects of this weekend instead of the positive ones. If ever there was a time he needed to fuck Mulder's brains out--or, at least, suck them out through his dick--this was it.

From forehead to toes, there was no part of Mulder's body--save his cock, balls and anus--that wasn't lavishly attended to by his partner's expert mouth. Skinner rolled him over from stomach to back so many times that they both lost count. And his lovebites were sure to leave marks--both sides of the neck, the inner thighs, on the right hip--but Mulder didn't care. As far as he was concerned, Skinner owned his body outright and could do whatever he liked with it.

As he was flipped onto his back again, Mulder looked up at Skinner's face and gasped at the unabashed, absolute love that radiated from it. He put his hand on the back of Skinner's strong neck and raised his mouth to be kissed. And boy, was he kissed. Skinner's skilful tongue neglected nothing inside the willing mouth as his lips slid over Mulder's. Meanwhile, his hands were everywhere, delicate and intuitive beyond belief, eliciting excited little grunts from the younger man.

He kissed his way down Mulder's body to his purposely neglected genitals. As he massaged the straining cock with his hands, he mouthed both balls and began to hum, sending wave upon wave of pleasure rolling from Mulder's groin straight to his brain.

"Oh, God, Walter..."

He took Mulder's cock in his mouth and sucked him until he was close to release, then backed off and turned him over onto his stomach.

Mulder tucked his knees under his body and pointed his ass skyward. "I'm clean, Walter. *Really* clean," he said over his shoulder.

Skinner knew that this was Mulder's adorably coy way of asking to be rimmed. Usually, the devil in him liked to make Mulder articulate *exactly* what he wanted, but Skinner wouldn't tease him like that now. He'd suffered enough. They both had.

"Anything you want, babe," Skinner said huskily, running his hands along the curve of Mulder's back, down to his ass. He squeezed the firm flesh and kissed the bitemarks he'd left earlier. From there his tongue followed his fingers, which were playing between Mulder's cheeks, drawing a wavy line to his balls. Skinner reached through Mulder's legs and fondled his cock while licking the skin around his asshole. When Mulder began to wriggle, Skinner's tongue started working into the tight ring of muscle itself, darting in and out. Mulder tasted so good, and was moaning so responsively, that Skinner happily dove his tongue in deeper than he ever had.

Then Mulder's mutterings became intelligible words, hoarsely shouted.

"Lube! Fingers! Please, Walter!"

Skinner grabbed the tube of lubricant from the nightstand. As he squirted some onto his finger, he looked down at Mulder and was surprised to find him lying on his back with his knees pressed to his heaving chest.

"I want you to open me up and fuck me, Walter! The real thing this time."

Skinner's heart started racing. "Fox, you don't have to do this..."

Mulder grabbed the slippery finger and pulled it toward him. "I *want* to! I want you inside me. That's why I gave myself an enema before I came over. We've been preparing for this for weeks, Walter."

He was right. Skinner couldn't deny it.

Gingerly, Skinner invaded Mulder's body with one finger. "We should do it spoon style, then. That's what 'The Book' recommends for the first time."

Mulder shook his head passionately. "No! Face to face. Like this. I want to see your face when you come." He tapped Skinner's wrist. "Another finger."

"Not until the muscles relax. You're too tense right now." With his other hand, he trickled his fingers across Mulder's belly in an effort to soothe him. "If you want us to look at each other, then you should straddle me. Sit on my cock. That way, you'll be in control."

Again Mulder stiffened. "No! I want *you* on top, pounding into me, fucking me!"

"But 'The Book' says--"

"Fuck 'The Book!'"

"I thought you wanted me to fuck *you*!"

Mulder laughed, and Skinner felt him loosen up.

Skinner began stroking Mulder's chest, thumbing his nipples. "I just don't want to hurt you, Fox."

Mulder reached up and cupped the side of his lover's face. "You won't. I trust you."

The older man turned his head and nuzzled the hand on his cheek. "Okay. But we take it *slow*."

When Skinner felt the sphincter muscles relax, he pushed his finger deeper, beyond the sphincter and into the rectum.

"You're doing great, babe," he told Mulder as he withdrew the finger. After applying more lube to it and a second finger, he carefully inserted both into Mulder's ass. All the while, he rubbed Mulder's cock, played with his balls, and babbled an endless stream of sweet nothings. He'd read that it was important to keep the bottom--especially a first-timer--relaxed, to tell him how sexy and attractive he was, and to talk about what both of you were feeling as you prepared him and then fucked him...if you could think straight enough to make sense at that point.

When he was certain that Mulder was ready, Skinner removed his fingers and applied a generous amount of lube to both Mulder's hole and his own cock, which was now incredibly hard. He kneeled between Mulder's legs, lifted his ankles, and put them on his broad shoulders. He then placed his erection against Mulder's anus.

"How does that feel, Fox?"

His eyes were dreamy. "Amazing. Keep going."

Carefully, tenderly, Skinner pushed only the head in and paused.

"You still okay?"

"Yes! Give me *more*."

Skinner continued with extreme caution until he was about a third of the way in. His eyes hadn't left Mulder's from the beginning, and now he saw something in them that made him stop. A flicker of pain. A look that shouted, "This is a mistake!"

"Do you want me to pull out?" he asked calmly, trying to hide his trepidation from Mulder. He began to retract.

Mulder grabbed his wrist. "No! I'm fine. Don't stop!"

Skinner stroked his lover's forehead, cheeks, jawline. "Breathe deeply for me, okay babe? That's it. Just relax..." He bent over and kissed the dry lips, moistening them with his tongue.

Despite Mulder's protests, Skinner withdrew completely and put more lube on his cock. The second attempt at entry was much easier, and they were both startled when Skinner slid right in.

"Wow!" Mulder was so tight, tighter than Skinner would have thought possible.

The dreamy cast was back in Mulder's eyes. He aimed a sexy, almost sleepy smile at Skinner. "Fuck me, Walter."

Skinner was beyond being excited. But the last thing he wanted to do was cause Mulder any pain. Exercising supreme control, he began thrusting slowly and gently. Soon, Mulder was moving with him, inviting deeper penetration. As they got used to this particular dance, Skinner wrapped one hand around Mulder's eager cock and began pumping it to the same seductive rhythm.

"Fox," he grunted, "I'm going to unhook your left leg from my shoulder and drop it down. Wrap it around my back."

When Mulder complied, Skinner adjusted his hips and--

"Oh, Christ! Jesus!"

Skinner's cock had finally made contact with Mulder's prostate.

After a couple minutes of this intense internal massaging, Mulder grew positively wild, raising his hips to meet Skinner's thrusts and pounding his cock into Skinner's hand.

"Come for me, Walter! Fuck me! Fuck me *now*!"

Bathed in sweat, Skinner lost what little remained of his self-control and slammed into Mulder, his balls slapping against the bucking ass beneath him. They came within seconds of each other, howling, crying, laughing like madmen.

Skinner all but collapsed, using his elbows to avoid crushing Mulder.

When they could breathe normally again, Skinner hoisted himself back up and slowly withdrew his fading cock from Mulder's ass.

"Things got a little crazy there," he said as he gathered Mulder into his arms. "Did I hurt you?"

"Hell, no! You were fantastic. I loved it. You?"

Skinner kissed him deeply. "Of course! But I love all the other things we've done, too. I don't want to make this the focus of our sex life. You *do* give the best head, you know."

Mulder studied his partner and smiled. "You're something else, Walter Skinner."

"I'm just your ordinary, everyday, Mulder-lovin' sex machine."

Mulder started to laugh, then Skinner joined him. And they fell asleep with smiles on their battered faces.

*******

A noise from the bathroom brought Mulder out of a deep, dreamless sleep. The absence of another body in the bed, and his failure to find it, actually woke him up.

"Walter? Where are you? What time is it?"

Then Skinner was sitting beside him, ruffling his hair, kissing him. "Almost nine. Didn't mean to wake you."

"That's okay. Why are you dressed already?"

"Just going to the drugstore."

"Why?"

"Need a few things."

"Like what?"

One of Skinner's nephews use to go on like this. When he was four years old.

"The Sunday paper. And one of those home enema things."

Mulder sat up and blinked. "What for?"

Skinner patted his ass through the covers. "You've had your turn, babe. This one's for me."

"Walter!"

"Look, Fox. This relationship is fifty-fifty. We're equal partners. I get to fuck you, so you get to fuck me."

Mulder was incredulous. "You want me to--"

"Fuck me," Skinner finished. "Yeah. I want to know what it feels like to have you inside me. And I want you to know how good it feels to bury yourself in someone's ass. *My* ass."

"Holy shit!"

"That's what I plan to avoid by having an enema." This drew another shocked look from Mulder. "When I get back, I'll make us some breakfast. Then I'll do my internal cleansing thing, and we can take a nice, hot bath together. After that, Walter loses his cherry."

Mulder cracked up. "You really *are* twisted!"

"Must be rubbing off." He gave Mulder another kiss. "I'll put on a pot coffee on my way out."

Mulder tucked him under the chin. "What should I do while you're gone, you big stud?"

It was Skinner's turn to chuckle. "Rest up, boy. You're going to need your strength today."

  
FBI Headquarters  
Washington, DC  
Monday, 8:20 am

"Oh, my God, Mulder! What happened to you?"

Scully was shocked by her partner's appearance. His eyes were red and sunken in their sockets, his lips were painfully chapped, and his face seemed--*sunburned* was the word that came to mind. But his smile was genuinely beatific.

She was further astonished when he rose from his chair and gave her a bear hug. She glanced around nervously and was glad to see that their floor was still fairly unoccupied.

"I know I like look hell, Scully, but I feel great. Really."

She pulled away and stared up at his eyes. "You should have put an icepack on those."

He returned to his desk, sitting down a little slower than usual. "I did."

"Jesus, Mulder! I know you're sick of me prying into your personal affairs, but I don't thinks it's very healthy to--"

"Scully, I'm fine. It started off as the worst weekend of my life, but it ended up being the best. Just be happy for me and forget about it, okay?"

Scully's eyebrows shot up. "Sounds pretty serious, Mulder."

He smiled. "It is, actually."

Scully sighed and sat down at her desk. She knew that Mulder blamed her, in part at least, for losing the X-Files to Spender and Fowley. Was his refusal to confide in her his way of getting back at her?

Short of apologizing, she'd been doing everything she could think of to get back into his good books. Like bringing him latt�s and gourmet muffins every morning. And sneaking around with him, behind A.D. Kersh's back, to pursue X-Files on their own. But he still hadn't cracked.

At first she was terrified that Phoebe Green, Queen Psycho Bitch herself, had parachuted into Mulder's life again.

"Please, Scully," he'd huffed, clearly insulted. "I may be a masochist, but even *I* have limits."

She'd also experienced blessed relief when he assured her that it wasn't Diana Fowley. There was something about that woman that Scully just didn't like. Or trust.

When she'd asked if he was seeing someone from work, he'd looked decidedly uncomfortable, so she'd forged ahead.

"Holly? Kersh's P.A.? Skinner's P.A.?"

Mulder had definitely flushed, but told her it was no *woman* she knew.

So if it wasn't a colleague or an old flame, who could it be? When would Mulder have found the time to meet someone new?

She watched as he practically swallowed his muffin whole. "Hungry this morning, Mulder? Didn't she cook for you?"

He swallowed, then washed his second breakfast down with a gulp of coffee. "Scully, I'll tell you *soon*. I promise. It's just a little, well--complicated."

"My God, Mulder! She's not married, is she?"

He snorted. "I am *not* involved with a married woman."

//Just a *man*, Scully. Our former boss. What do you think of *that*?//

"Thank goodness for small miracles." She booted up her computer. "You know, Mulder, I'm not as uptight or unsophisticated as you might think. I mean, you don't have to worry about shocking me or anything. Unless it's one of the Lone Gunmen. Especially Frohike."

Mulder nearly choked on his latt�.

She handed him a napkin. "Are you okay?"

He wiped his mouth. "Yeah. Just went down the wrong way."

//Shit!// 

If he and Skinner didn't tell her soon, she'd figure it out on her own and shoot him. Again. And, this time, she'd kill him.

  
FBI Headquarters  
Washington, D.C.  
Monday, 2:52 p.m.

Mulder must have checked his watch fifty times in the last hour. He couldn't wait for this day to end so he could go home to Skinner. They hadn't seen each other since breakfast. Too risky. After dinner, they were going to go shopping for Christmas presents and decorations and an artificial tree--the condo's management didn't allow real ones--then turn in early. And go to sleep later. *Much* later.

He couldn't stop thinking about Skinner, how their relationship had evolved into something much deeper and stronger over the weekend--something so extraordinary, he still had a difficult time believing it. He could almost feel the big man's powerful legs wrapped around him as Mulder fucked him senseless. And his own ass really *could* feel--still!--the results of Skinner's efforts. They'd tried as many different positions as they could before requiring hospitalization, with equal turns as top and bottom. He shuddered pleasantly as he replayed their new lovemaking methods over and over again in his mind.

But what meant more to him than anything they'd done was what they'd said to each other. And the words, "I love you," in Skinner's rich baritone, continued to fill his ears and his heart. Mulder had good-naturally chided his lover for saying it so often. But the truth of it was, he couldn't get enough of it.

As he daydreamed instead of reading the dossier Kersh had given him, his cell phone rang. He fished it out of his jacket pocket, mildly annoyed at the interruption.

"Mulder."

"Hi, babe."

"Hey, you." He was reluctant to use Skinner's name in case something on or near his desk was bugged. In this place, the walls definitely had ears. "Where are you calling from this time?" Once again, he thanked the technology gods for cell phones.

"The lobby."

"Good choice. Hide in plain sight. What's up?"

"Nothing. I just wanted to say 'hi.' I miss you, kiddo. I'm still under orders to stay away from you, you know."

Mulder wanted to run downstairs, grab the man, and take him home--to bed. "You're hopeless."

Skinner chuckled. "Like you're not. What time do you think you'll be finished there tonight?"

"Not late. I should be home before six. How 'bout you?"

"The same."

"Good. Oh--*please* tell me that you've managed to avoid running into Scully!"

"So far, so good. I've been holed up in my office for most of the day."

"Smart move. You don't look half as bad as I do, but if she saw you, well, you know Scully..."

Skinner sighed. "Yeah. She giving you a hard time?"

"Sort of. She's worried about me, as usual."

"What did you tell her?"

"Just that I'm happier than shit."

"Hope I have something to do with that."

"Try *everything*. And you know it." Mulder paused briefly as the butterflies in his stomach took flight. "This isn't going to turn into one of those stupid, sappy conversations, is it?"

"Might."

"With all those people milling around you?"

"Maybe."

"You don't sound too sure about things today."

"There *is* one thing..."

"And that would be--?"

"How I feel about you."

Mulder groaned. "You're not going to *say* it! Not in the lobby, for God's sake!"

"Why shouldn't I?"

"Someone might hear you!"

"Who cares? They don't know who I'm talking to."

"Geez! And I suppose you're gonna want me to say it back."

He heard Skinner laugh. "Damn right. I love you, you dope."

Scully had just come back from a rare meeting that didn't involve her partner. She wasn't as if she was sneaking up on him--God knows her high heels made enough noise on the tiled floor--but he obviously wasn't aware of her presence, and she grinned, realizing she'd just walked in on what sounded like a juicy t�te-...-t�te.

"Yeah? Well, I love you--"

And that's when he noticed Scully out of the corner of his eye.

"--Mom," he finished weakly.

"Huh?" Skinner said, puzzled.

"My *partner's* just come back, so I gotta go, *Mom*. Talk to ya later. 'Bye!" He flipped the phone shut and turned to the petite redhead. "Oh, hi, Scully."

She was grinning. "Hi, Mulder. How's your mother?"

"Mom? She's fine."

"Do you always talk to her on your cell phone?"

He busied himself at his computer. "Sometimes."

"I see."

Scully saw, all right. But it was getting close to Christmas, and she was feeling charitable, so she let it go.

For now.

Walter Skinner's Apartment Crystal City, Virginia Monday, 5:47 p.m.

As he set the table for dinner, Mulder suggested that maybe it was time they had their talk with Scully.

Skinner stopped slicing mushrooms and nodded, resigned to his fate. "When?"

"The sooner the better. Before the holidays for sure."

"Together, right?"

Mulder came over and hugged Skinner from behind. "I'm not doing it without you. No way! I'll need you for protection."

Skinner laughed. "She *is* a dangerous little thing, isn't she?"

"Shit, yes." He rubbed the shoulder where she'd once shot him. For his own good, of course.

Skinner put down the knife and turned to embrace Mulder. "Do you think she'll have a problem with this?"

"Nah. Scully's cool. She's religious and all that, but she isn't homophobic. She'll be okay. After she kills me for keeping this from her, that is."

"I was in the Marines. I won't let her kill you."

"Don't underestimate her, Walter. She just may kill us both."

  
FBI Headquarters  
Washington, D.C.  
Thursday, 1:24 p.m.

Kersh was sending them down to Bowling Green to conduct some bullshit interviews in connection with a bank fraud investigation.

Which meant they'd have to pass through Alexandria on their way back to the Bureau.

Mulder told Scully he had to use the men's room before they left, but ducked into a cleaning supplies closet and dialled Skinner's cell phone.

Luckily, the A.D. was alone in his office when the call came.

"Skinner." He knew who it was, though.

"It's me. Can you stop by my apartment- uh, you know what I mean--after work tonight? I'll have Scully with me, and we can tell her you-know-what."

Skinner swallowed, surprised to find himself feeling nervous. "Sure."

"You're really okay with this?"

"Absolutely."

"Sorry for the short notice, but thanks, big guy."

"Don't thank me yet."

  
Fox Mulder's Apartment  
Alexandria, Virginia  
Thursday, 5:20 p.m.

"Mulder, are you okay?"

Scully was concerned about her partner's emotional health. She never knew what to expect from him from day to day. Last week he'd been melancholy and peevish. Then he'd shown up for work this week looking like death but in a state of near euphoria. Today he was jittery and cryptic, although still in a good mood, which was a minor miracle in itself.

And he'd insisted they stop at his place on the way back to the Hoover. But he wouldn't say why.

"I'm fine, Scully," he said, nearly dropping his keys as he fumbled with the door.

She arched her elegant eyebrows as she swept past him into the apartment, but stopped short and reached for her gun when she realized that someone was sitting on Mulder's couch, watching television.

That someone was Walter Skinner.

He'd loosened his tie, taken off his jacket, and rolled up his shirt sleeves. With his right ankle resting on his left knee, he appeared to be right at home. He clicked off the TV as soon as the agents entered the room, and nodded at her.

"Agent Scully."

She was clearly baffled. "Sir, wh--?"

But Skinner had already moved on to Mulder. "Hi," he said. Relaxed. Friendly. Familiar. Just a hint of a smile.

"Hi," Mulder said back, trying to suppress his own delight. "Give me your coat, Scully."

"Mulder--" she began.

"Can I get you something to drink?" he asked while he helped her out of her coat. Without waiting for an answer, he addressed Skinner. "Do I have anything?"

"I made coffee." He indicated the mug sitting on the table in front of him.

"Great! Thanks." He draped Scully's coat over a chair, then shrugged out of his. "Scully? Coffee?"

"Hmm? Oh, yeah. Coffee's fine."

Skinner was on his feet. "I'll get it," he told Mulder. He scooped up the mug he'd been using and went into the kitchen. "How do you take it, Agent Scully?" he called.

"Black please, Sir." This was weird. Why the hell was their former boss serving refreshments at Mulder's apartment?

"Have a seat, Scully." Mulder pointed at the chair across from the couch.

As she sat down, Skinner returned with three brimming mugs. When he'd handed them out, he went back to his original spot on the couch, where Mulder joined him.

After a few interminable minutes of silent sipping, Scully put down her coffee and coughed. "Mulder, this is all very nice and cozy, but would you mind telling me what the hell's going on? We're all aware that A.D. Skinner could get in a lot of trouble for just being here..."

The two men glanced at each other. Mulder cleared his throat. "Well, Scully, I--" Skinner nudged him gently with his knee. "Uh, I mean *we*--" He looked at Skinner, then back at her. "--have something to tell you." He gave her his most charming, Fox Mulder grin.

Her eyes grew huge as realization dawned. "Oh--my--God!" She jerked her head toward Skinner. "*This* is 'I love you Mom?'"

"Uh-huh."

"Goddamn you, Mulder!"

"Told you," Mulder said quietly to Skinner.

Scully sprang out of the chair and started to pace, cursing none too quietly under her breath. The hue now washing across her face was doing its best to match the shade of her hair.

"Scully--"

"Shut up, Mulder! I need to think."

"What's to think about?" Mulder didn't know whether to be angry or amused. "You wanted to know who I was seeing so badly. Now you know."

She froze and glared at him. "How long?"

He checked his watch. "Two months, one week."

She looked at Skinner, who simply nodded in agreement. She noticed he was struggling to remain deadpan, which irked her even more.

//Smug, sneaky bastards!//

"Jesus, Mulder! More than two months! And you're just telling me *now*?"

"We had our reasons for waiting, Scully. Which, quite frankly, are none of your damned business."

Hoping to diffuse the tension between the agents before they drew their weapons against each other, Skinner unwisely tried to intervene. "Agent Scully--"

She whirled to face him. He was no longer her boss, and she could say anything she damn well pleased. "Everyone expects erratic, unpredictable behaviour from Mulder," she spat, "but *you*? With all due respect, Sir, are you out of your fucking mind?"

Mulder didn't care if she wanted to bully or attack him--hell, he'd come to expect it--but he drew the line if she planned on making Skinner her target. "Scully!"

Skinner placed a soothing hand on Mulder's arm. "It's all right, Fox. Let her finish."

//Fox?!? He lets him call him Fox? Boy, this *must* be love!//

"If you have no regard for your own career, Sir, I don't care. But what about Mulder's? What about *his* reputation? No one takes him seriously as it is. What's going to happen when they start calling him '*Fruity*' Mulder? Have you ever stopped to think about what that'll do to him? *His* career? His *life*?"

"Yes, Agent Scully," Skinner said patiently. "Your partner and I have weighed all the pros and cons, and considered all the possible consequences of having a relationship outside the office."

"Nice euphemism there, Sir."

"Cut it out, Scully." Mulder was definitely not amused.

"The bottom line, *Dana*," Skinner continued mildly, "is that we're going to try to be as discreet as possible, but we're not going to let *anything* or *anyone* stand in the way of our being together."

"Do you honestly think you can keep something like this a secret indefinitely?"

"No, we don't." Skinner took a sip from his mug. "If and when we get outed, I'm prepared to resign from the Bureau."

If Scully's jaw hung any lower she'd trip over it. "You're kidding."

"No, actually, I'm not. Fox needs the FBI and its resources far more than I do. As long as I'm still employed there, I'll help him--I'll help *both* of you--as much as I can. But when the time comes, I'll be the one who walks away."

She turned to her partner, her expression softening. "Is this true, Mulder?"

"Yeah." He was more subdued now too. "Pretty wild, huh? I mean, that someone could care about me enough to kiss his career good bye..."

"Wow," she said, sinking back onto the chair. "Oh, boy." She gulped down the rest of her coffee.

"Scully," Mulder teased not unkindly, "you didn't have a clue, did you?"

She laughed weakly. "Nope. Some investigator, huh? Of course, now it all makes sense." She shook her head with wonder, and said to Skinner, "At least now I know why you showed up at the hospital, with flowers no less, to visit Mulder last month. And--" She hesitated while she thought back. "--and I thought it was kind of strange when you said you were going to kick his butt when he got better, even though you weren't his supervisor any more..."

"It was code, Scully. What he really meant was *kiss* my butt."

Skinner playfully cuffed him alongside the head.

"Ow!" But Mulder was grinning from ear to ear.

"I feel so foolish," Scully said, staring at them, a whisper of something that felt like envy creeping into her soul.

"Don't beat yourself up, Scully," Mulder told her. "With Walter being an ex-Marine and married for 17 years, plus his Oscar-worthy acting skills, not even Sherlock Holmes would have figured him out."

"You certainly had me fooled, Sir."

Skinner just shrugged.

"As for *you*, Mulder, when did you start liking men?"

Mulder took Skinner's hand and interlaced their fingers. "I don't 'like men,' Scully." He locked eyes with Skinner. "I love Walter."

Scully watched as a sheepish grin transformed the A.D., making him look younger. More handsome. Almost boyish.

And Mulder--he beamed right back at Skinner, bringing an unexpected lump to her throat. Was this *really* her partner? And her former boss? They reminded her of her parents, the way they used to carry on. A happily married couple...

"Uh, guys?" They looked at her as she stood. "I hate to break up this Hallmark moment, but Rod's picking me up at eight..."

"You told me his name was *Willy*," Skinner said to Mulder as he whacked him again. "Brat!"

"What else did he tell you, Sir? That Rod's a male stripper? Circus clown? Maybe an undertaker?"

"He said he was a pilot. For Aeroflot."

Scully favoured her smirking partner with a look that could melt glass, then turned back to Skinner. "All I can say is, good luck, Sir. As for you, Mulder, you're taking me to lunch tomorrow, and we're going to have a nice, long chat."

"Sure. Whatever. But before you go, there's one more thing I think you should know."

"Oh?"

"Walter asked me to move in with him, so I did."

"Never pegged you for a masochist either, Sir."

Mulder made a face at her. "I'm still going to keep this place--for a while, anyway--for appearances' sake, but if you need to reach me in a hurry, don't call here."

"Do you have the number?" Skinner asked her.

"Yes, Sir. Anything else I should know?"

"I guess that's it." Mulder got up to help Scully with her coat.

"Do you need a lift back to the Hoover, Mulder?" she asked.

"No, it's okay. I'll go with Walter after I clean up here." Scully noticed they gave each other *that* look again. All they needed was the violin music...

She *had* to leave. "Good night, Mulder. Sir."

"It's *Walter*. Good night, Dana," Skinner said.

"Right. Walter, then."

There were a lot of things that Dana Scully would have to get used to starting now, and she had the feeling that being on a first-name basis with her ex-Supervisor--her partner's male *lover*, for God's sake!--was going to be one of the easier ones.

  
Washington, D.C.  
Friday, 12:55 p.m.

"Aren't you rushing things just a bit, Mulder?"

Scully took another sip of coffee and debated whether she wanted any more of her tasteless salad. This wasn't the lunch she'd envisioned with Mulder--eating fast food in the car while on a stake-out--to discuss the bombshell he'd dropped on her yesterday.

Mulder swallowed his last mouthful of french fries. "You mean moving in with him?"

"You've only being seeing him for a couple of months..."

"But we've known each other for years."

"It's not like you were friends or anything."

"I'll admit it took us a while to trust each other. But once that trust was established, there was a mutual respect. Hell, I liked him, Scully. And he..."

"Yes?"

"He had a 'thing' for me--well, just about since we met."

"Jesus!"

"What?"

"No wonder his marriage broke up."

"Look, Walter's marriage was in trouble long before I came along."

"I guess that can happen when you've got a taste for hookers."

"That's a cheap shot, Scully! That was the first time he'd been with anyone besides his wife since they were married. He was hurting and lonely and needed someone, and he didn't think I was--available. It's not like he's proud of what he did. It almost killed him when I got involved."

Mulder remembered his own shame in telling Skinner about *his* last sexual encounter. Walter had been compassionate and understanding. Not the least bit judgmental. Mulder was glad he'd never told Scully. She would have gone apeshit.

"Well, you should be practising safe sex anyway."

He snorted. "Believe me, Scully, Walter and I are about as safe as they come." He waggled an imaginary cigar and wiggled his eyebrows suggestively. "Pun intended."

"This is serious, Mulder! AIDS is nothing to joke about." Looking at the remains of her wilted lunch was making her feel sick, so she closed the container and pushed it aside.

"Walter's not an idiot. He used a condom, but he got himself tested anyway, just to make sure."

"What about all the *people* he slept with after that?"

"There were no other people. Women *or* men."

"Just erotic fantasies about you kept him going, huh?"

"That's right."

"And you believe him?"

He slammed his fist against the dashboard. "Of course I believe him! How can you crucify him like this after everything he's done for you?"

//Here comes the guilt.// "I'm only thinking of you, Mulder."

"If anyone's a sick puppy here, it's *me*, Scully. Not Walter. I'm the guy with all the nudie magazines and sleazy videos. I'm the 1-900 phone sex king. I'm the moron who didn't wear a condom the last time he was with a woman. And it wasn't a call girl. It was worse."

//Kristen Kilar, wannabe vampire, to be exact. Now *there* was an AIDS scare!//

She started to ask him what could be worse than a hooker, but he cut her off. "You're my partner and my friend, and I appreciate your concern. But I know what I'm doing. I'm fine. I'm better than fine."

She felt close to tears, but held them in check. "I'm happy for you. I really am. It's just that--"

"What?"

She exhaled loudly. "I guess I'm a bit jealous."

"Wanted Walter for yourself, huh? Not that I blame you."

His grin told her he was kidding, and she swatted his arm. Could she tell him the truth? Or just part of it...

"What is it, Scully?"

"I've never met anyone I'd want to settle down with. And I'd like to, one day."

"I take it that Rod's not *the one*."

The fact that he'd finally got the man's name right didn't escape her. "Afraid not. I really like him, and we have a lot of fun together, but he's hardly the love of my life."

//And he's no Fox Mulder.//

"I'm sorry, Scully. But you'll find someone. And he'll be the luckiest guy in the world. After Walter and me, of course."

She did her best to smile. "Well, at least now I know why you never really made a pass at me."

"It had nothing to do with you. Trust me. It's just that I like my dates to be tall, balding, and built like a Greek god."

She shook her head. "Skinner..."

"He's a great guy. It would be nice if the two people I care about most could get along..."

"As in friends?"

"Yeah. He's willing to try. He likes you, you know."

Scully rubbed her forehead. "It's not that I don't like him, Mulder, but he *was* our boss..."

"Not any more."

She managed a half-hearted chuckle. "Thank God. Meetings with the two of you making eyes at each other the way you do would have been insufferable."

"We don't make eyes at each other," Mulder sniffed. "Do we?"

She raised *hers* heavenward and reached for her coffee. "Mulder, I just want to know one more thing."

He steadied himself. "Yes?"

"Now that you're--involved--what are you going to do with all that porno stuff?"

The corners of his mouth twitched. "I was thinking of donating it to Frohike."

  
Skinner & Mulder's Apartment  
Crystal City, Virginia  
Christmas Morning

They woke with arms and legs entwined, Mulder's head tucked under Skinner's chin. Mulder snuggled closer when Skinner kissed his hair, fragrant and slightly damp from their late-night bath.

"'Morning, Fox. Merry Christmas."

Mulder brushed still-tender lips against Skinner's. "Merry Christmas, Walter. Time to get up already?"

Skinner's soft chuckle filled the room. "Don't you want to see what Santa brought you?"

"Don't have to. I can *feel* it. It's big, and warm, and poking into my stomach."

"That's for later. And don't pout like that or we'll be in bed all day."

"And this is a problem because--?"

"Because the turkey won't get into the oven on its own, smart ass." Skinner patted Mulder's bare bottom. "Let's get dressed, eat breakfast, open gifts, and get the bird ready. *Then* we can pick up where we left off last night."

Mulder tried to convince him to do that *now*, but as sorely as Skinner was tempted, he wanted them to save their strength...

While they ate pancakes and bacon, Skinner watched Mulder sneaking peaks at the Christmas tree. How a grown man could be so endearingly child-like was a mystery Skinner hoped would remain forever unsolved.

"Let's clean up later," Mulder said the minute he put down his fork.

"This from the man who didn't want to get out of bed?"

Mulder stood and started pulling Skinner's hand. "I'm up now, so we may as well open our presents."

They sat cross-legged on the floor and started with their stockings, which they'd purchased for each other without the other knowing--until last night, when Skinner had snuck Mulder's into the living room only to find one with his name on it. Mulder's stocking was a tasteful needlepoint winterscape, while Skinner's was red and white plush featuring a chunky Elvis in a Santa suit. He loved Mulder all the more for believing it was truly beautiful.

Whenever he looked back on their first Christmas together, Skinner's only regret was not having videotaped Mulder opening his stocking. His reactions as he pulled out each item--among them a Darth Vader Pez dispenser, Astroglide, sunflower seeds, Superman comic books, an orange in the toe--were priceless.

When it was time for the gifts, Mulder insisted that Skinner start. The first item was a pair of heather-grey long briefs, the kind that look like bicycle shorts. "Try them on, Walter." The mere thought of how they'd fit Skinner like a second skin made Mulder's groin ache pleasantly.

"Later," Skinner teased. "I promise." When Mulder groaned, Skinner handed him a colourfully-wrapped package. "Here. You might as well open this one now." Skinner had also gotten him sexy underwear.

"More like a G-string," Mulder said, clearly pleased.

Then it was back to Skinner: the new Grisham book; a bottle of cognac; cologne; and, finally, a black cashmere turtleneck. "My God, Fox! It's beautiful! Thank you." Skinner leaned over and kissed him slowly, sweetly.

Mulder was equally appreciative of each of his gifts: a pair of Rollerblades, like Skinner's, with all the safety gear; the latest CD from Garbage; and the Star Wars edition of Trivial Pursuit, which he opened with youthful exuberance. "Wanna play now?"

The way he examined the pewter playing pieces made Skinner think of Christmases past, when he, his brother and cousins spent hours playing under, around and *in* the Christmas tree with those ubiquitous green plastic soldiers.

Skinner mussed Mulder's hair. Tried to, anyway. "As much as I'd enjoy getting my ass kicked by you, Obi-Wan," he said, smiling nervously, "you've got one more present." He reached way under the tree and dug out hatbox-sized box.

"Walter, you got me too much already."

Skinner licked his lips. "Um, this one's for both of us."

Looking slightly bemused, Mulder tore at the wrapping paper, ripped open the box, and pulled out fistfuls of scrunched-up newspaper until he came to two small folders.

"Plane tickets?" One was in Mulder's name, the other Skinner's. He opened his with shaky fingers. "These are for Miami! For--this Sunday!" He gave Skinner a smile that flooded him with relief. "We're going to Florida?"

"You don't mind?"

"Duh!" Mulder launched himself at Skinner, knocking him over onto his back and covering his face with puppyish kisses. "Like I mind having you all to myself for seven whole days."

Skinner reached up to cup Mulder's cheek. "I booked the seats the week we--the first week of December. I know that I'm a control freak, and I shouldn't make major decisions like this without consulting you first, but I wanted to surprise you, and I--"

"Walter--"

"--I thought we could use a week in the sun, together, and since we're both off work until the New Year, I--"

Mulder silenced him with lips and tongue, and didn't stop until he made sure Skinner could hardly breathe, let alone talk. He sat up and straddled the impressive body, then grasped one of Skinner's hands in both of his. "So why Miami?" He raised the hand to his lips and began kissing each knuckle.

"Oooh, I like that! Huh? Oh, we're not staying there. We're going to Key West. It's about a four-hour drive from Miami."

"Key West..."

"It's one of the few places where people are cool about two men holding hands in public. Or hugging. Or dancing."

Mulder's eyes were as wide as his smile. "Dancing?"

"I've got us booked into this romantic place that caters to, well, uh--"

"Gay men?" Mulder finished for him.

Skinner flushed slightly. "Yeah."

Mulder bent over and kissed him again. "Can't wait to see it." Another kiss. "Now, why don't you let me show you how grateful I am?" He ducked his head under Skinner's sweater in search of a nipple to harass.

"Fox, uh--aah--oh, God--stop that! We've got potatoes to peel, and dressing to make, and a turkey to stuff--"

"Wouldn't you rather stuff me first?"

Skinner's chuckle was replaced by a low, guttural moan when Mulder slid a hand down the front of his pants. "I don't want to do this yet..."

Mulder gently squeezed the thickening cock. "Oh, yes you do."

He groaned and laughed at the same time. "God, the things you do to me!" He somehow summoned up the willpower he needed to get out from under Mulder and stand up. "I'm going to give you the time of your life later. It'll be worth the wait."

Mulder lay on the floor at Skinner's feet, the crotch of his jeans stretched painfully tight. "It had better be, Walter."

"Trust me, babe."

  
FBI Headquarters  
Washington, D.C.  
2:38 pm

The FBI was always open for business. But on Christmas day, the Hoover was deathly quiet, with only a handful of people on duty.

On the way there, Mulder was convinced that Skinner was going to fuck him in his office, right under the portraits of Bill Clinton and Janet Reno. He pictured himself bending over the A.D.'s orderly desk, his jeans around his ankles, being taken from behind. Or would he be naked? The possibilities were endless.

But Skinner wouldn't confirm or deny anything. And then he baffled Mulder by driving past the parking garage and pulling up in front of the building's fitness centre. There were no other cars around, no signs of life at all.

"Walter! You're not serious!"

Skinner's reply was a sly grin, his eyes twinkling with mischief.

It was a short but frigid walk to the centre's front entrance. But Skinner skirted them past that, to an unmarked door off to the side. He inserted a security card into a recessed slot, then punched in a five-digit code. A green light flashed, there was a soft click, and Skinner pulled the door open, playfully shoving Mulder inside.

Mulder immediately started examining the walls and ceilings. "They've got surveillance cameras all over the place," he whispered. "This is nuts!"

"All taken care of, babe," he said in a normal voice that sounded too loud in the empty hallway. When Mulder's eyebrows turned into question marks, Skinner took him by the shoulders. "I'm still a big-shot Assistant Director, remember?"

But Mulder felt decidedly uncomfortable walking hand-in-hand through the FBI fitness centre with a fellow--*fellow* being the operative word--Bureau employee, even though it was obvious that they had the place to themselves.

Skinner steered him into the men's locker room and hit the light switch before backing Mulder up against a row of lockers and kissing him with a thoroughness that temporarily quelled his anxiety. Then, with Skinner setting the pace, they undressed each other slowly.

"Come on, babe." Skinner grabbed a couple of towels and led Mulder by the hand into the pool area. It was warm and shadowy, illuminated by security lights and spotlights embedded in the walls of the pool itself. Acutely aware of his nudity, Mulder looked up toward the second-floor weight room, observing nothing but blackness through the glass walls.

Skinner sensed his unease and squeezed his hand. "It's okay. We're all alone."

Mulder squeezed back. "I hope you're right. Well, if we're going to skinny dip, shouldn't we get into the pool?"

"I want to watch you swim for a while first. But do me a favour this time: *turn* when you get to the end, all right?" He laughed when Mulder flipped him the bird. 

Mulder was grateful that his erection had flagged, because diving with a hard-on couldn't be pleasant. But as his naked body glided through the warmish water, the thought of Skinner watching him perked him back up. Suddenly he wanted to see the man he loved, see what *his* cock was up to at the moment. And show off his own. He rolled gracefully and began doing a lazy backstroke.

Even without his glasses, Skinner had no trouble seeing Mulder from where he stood. The submerged lighting and the bright blue water made his skin appear paler than usual, his brown hair almost obsidian. And when Mulder turned over onto his back, Skinner gasped at the gleaming shaft that sprang from the dusky triangle between the swimmer's legs. Skinner's swollen cock ached to be touched by the slender hands that were now caressing the water, stroking it. But Mulder was drifting further and further away...

//Oh, shit!// "Fox! The wall!"

Mulder's arms stopped working. He just kept them extended, above his head, until his fingers touched the end of the pool. Without incident. Skinner rubbed the bridge of his nose.

"Thanks, Walter!" he called out. Explaining a second head injury in this pool--on Christmas Day, no less--would be a bitch.

Mulder rolled back over and kept swimming, wondering how long Skinner wanted to play voyeur. Half-way through his second length, he turned his head to find another front crawler matching him stroke for stroke. Then Skinner pulled ahead, and Mulder put a hand out to feel tempered-steel flesh sliding beneath his outstretched fingertips. Instead of racing to catch up with Skinner, Mulder stopped to watch the fluid body in motion. The sight of that perfect ass rocking gently from side to side as those powerful legs propelled him forward paralysed Mulder--until he realized that Skinner had reached the end of the pool and was waiting for him. He swam like his life depended on it and anchored himself to the man who'd brought him back from the dead.

"Walter--" It was difficult to talk, breathe and kiss like horny teenagers at the same time. "--shouldn't I be lying on the deck for this?"

He laughed into Mulder's mouth. "No talking during CPR." Being naked *here* with Fox Mulder in his arms had been a recurring fantasy of his for years. But he'd learned enough--especially over the last few weeks--to know that fucking in a pool wasn't all it was cracked up to be. Water was a lousy lubricant.

He was about to suggest they head for the showers when Mulder asked him to sit on the side of the pool and lie back with his knees pressed to his shoulders. Remaining in the water, Mulder held onto Skinner's sturdy thighs for support and buried his face in the cleft between his buttocks. The taste and scent of chlorine was strong, so Mulder dove deeper, seeking out all that was Skinner. He flicked his tongue, snake-like, at the tight nether mouth, then prodded and pushed his way in. 

The man who was at the mercy of his mouth was having trouble holding onto his faculties. He'd been fucked stupid the night before, and his asshole was delightfully sensitive. And Mulder was doing something different with his tongue today. Something wonderfully wicked. Skinner whimpered when the moist, warm intruder withdrew, but began to moan when that incredible mouth began sucking at the little puckered gate. His pruney fingers scrabbled uselessly at the wet tiled floor as Mulder's lips and tongue slid up his crack to the base of his leaden sac. His cries escalated when his balls were gobbled up.

Mulder moved his hands to Skinner's knees, pulling them down but keeping them wide apart. His mouth deposited Skinner's testicles into his hand, then went to work on the purpling cock, kissing it, licking it, then sucking it in deeply.

Skinner loved to watch Mulder go down on him. He got up onto his elbows, his washboard abs contracting, as the dark head bobbed at his crotch. Seeing Mulder's luscious lips surrounding his cock, drawing it down his throat, never failed to hasten his orgasm. He came with a reverberating jungle roar as his mate licked him clean.

Like a sleek sea lion, Mulder wriggled out of the pool and joined Skinner on the deck. "They probably heard you in Australia. Let's get out of here." But he was smiling.

Skinner let Mulder help him to his feet and into the locker room's communal shower area. He turned on one of the taps and pulled Mulder in under the steamy spray with him. Mulder's rampant cock dug into his belly as Skinner kissed him passionately.

"Walter--please..." Mulder was through with being patient.

Skinner pressed him against the wall and lapped at the water that streamed down Mulder's skin, drinking from his chin, the base of his throat, his nipples. He knelt down and sucked greedily at Mulder's balls, then cock, but stopped when Mulder started rocking his hips.

"Walter, don't do this to me!"

Skinner stood quickly and kissed the near-frantic man. "Sorry, babe, but I want you to fuck me."

"But--but what about lube?" His breathing was laboured.

Skinner guided Mulder's hand under the liquid soap dispenser and filled his upturned palm. "This'll do just fine." He kissed Mulder, aroused and flattered by the lust in those intense eyes. Then he turned to face the wall, braced his weight against it with his hands, and bent over with feet apart.

Mulder slathered Skinner's anus with soap, then almost brought himself off when he attended to his own cock. He made sure not to brush up against Skinner as he slid a slick finger into him. 

"Fox, you don't need to stretch me. I'm ready for you *now*. And you're more than ready..."

"I love you, Walter." It was almost a sob. Mulder stood directly behind Skinner, using one hand to guide his cock between the parted cheeks to the soapy hole. With the other hand on Skinner's lower back, Mulder pushed his pelvis slightly forward, nudging the head of his cock into the tight opening. He closed his eyes and shuddered as he gained entry, the heat and the strength of this beautiful, willing body never failing to amaze him. He placed both hands on Skinner's hips and pushed a little more...more...

His eyes popped open when Skinner pushed back, impaling himself on Mulder's cock.

Mulder went still. "Walter! You okay?"

"Don't stop, dammit! Fuck me! Do it!"

Skinner was impossibly hard again. The brief, blinding flash of pain from penetration was gone and forgotten, and the indescribable joy of having Mulder stirring his insides, bumping against his prostate, started a fit of twitches in his own cock. He chanced removing a hand from the wall to touch himself, but Mulder intercepted.

"Let me, Walter." He reached around and pumped the pulsing member with his right hand, caressing Skinner's chest and nipples with the left. During this, he leaned over and nibbled at the thick neck while his partner pushed back onto his cock. Mulder dropped his left hand to fondle Skinner's balls and pressed his open mouth against a tensed shoulder as he thrust faster.

With a near-primal scream, Skinner emptied himself into Mulder's hand, his cries joined moments later by Mulder's. Skinner slowly straightened up, the softening cock still trapped between his cheeks, and steadied himself against the wall. Mulder wrapped his arms around his lover.

"Can we do this every Christmas?"

Skinner chuckled warmly. "Sure. Maybe not *here*, though."

Sighing, Mulder gently pulled out and turned Skinner around to face him. "I hope you realize that I'll probably get a hard-on every time I go for a swim or take a shower here," he pretend-scolded as he de-semenized Skinner.

"That'll get people talking, won't it?"

"Asshole."

"Bugger." 

"Can't argue with you there."

Skinner laughed, hugging him. "I love you, Fox Mulder." He turned off the water. "Now get dressed. We're going home."

But Mulder touched Skinner's arm and looked at him soberly. "Walter, do you think we'd be here today if you hadn't fished me out of the pool two months ago?"

Skinner shrugged. "Hard to say. I know I wouldn't have done anything if you hadn't given me reason to." He fingercombed the wet hair back. "But I wanted you so badly, loved you so much, I don't know how much longer I could have gone without saying or doing something."

Mulder brightened. "I'm just glad it happened sooner than later."

Skinner leaned in and kissed the fading scar on Mulder's forehead. "Me too. But the next time you want to get my attention, find a safer way to do it, okay?"

The younger man gave him one of those heart-stopping smiles as Skinner began towel-drying his hair.

As they left the locker room and made their way to the exit, Mulder no longer felt anxious. Oh, he knew there were rough waters ahead. But with Walter Skinner at his side, he knew he'd always make it to shore safely.

Hell, he already had.

\------------  
Fini

 

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